Stars
by Helen Pattskyn
Summary: AU "Many are the stars I see, but in my eye, no star like thee." On Saturday, 31 October, 2009 Tim and Abby are to be married at Saint Tudno’s Church in Llandudno, Wales. The ceremony will bring together friends both old and new…
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

I decided to post this as a crossover—and as its own story rather than including it in "More Short Stories"—because it will involve all of the regulars from NCIS as well as my Torchwood AUverse, and because that while I hope it won't grow too long, I suspect it will be longer than a "short" story.

**For anyone stumbling on my AUverse for the first time**, I truly endeavour to explain as I go and will always answer questions, however some knowledge of my world is really going to be helpful. There is a chronological list of my Torchwood stories in my profile. (Thank you again to everyone who helped me compile them!)

Yes, I am still going to be working on Jack and Kam, but the Muses were dancing this morning and this is the result…

**_Timeline_:** this takes place after my story, **Now Comes the Night**, which started out as a response to an episode of **House MD** and turned into a response to Torchwood's **Children** **of Earth**. (Please note that this takes place _*before*_ Chapters 70-73 of **Short Stories**. Sorry about that, they were part of my writing therapy after CoE. I needed to get that out of my head before I could backtrack with Tim and Abby's wedding.) The first chapter actually begins in late September…

_**Genre:** _mostly fluff with some humour, romance and a little drama thrown in for good measure. First chapter especially for everyone who loves Janto fluff (although it's not really all fluff.) Tim and Abby fluff will come later…

**_Rating:_** I'm going to call it T because I don't expect it to go too far at any point... if that changes, so will the rating.

* * *

_**Many are the stars I see,  
but in my eye, no star like thee.**  
~English saying used on poesy rings_

* * *

**Chapter One**

"_I have had dreams and I have had nightmares,  
but I have conquered my nightmares because of my dreams"_

Jonas Salk

* * *

Jack woke gasping for air, his heart pounding in his hears, like he'd just been dragged back to life. Panic… sheer blind panic… but then he recognized the comfort of his bed... the soft sound of breathing…his beautiful Welshman, sleeping next to him. He was grateful the nightmare hadn't woken the younger man. He wouldn't have wanted to explain that the last thing he remembered was Camille Johnson standing over him, cold concrete pouring on top of him, filling his nose, his mouth… his eyes. Drowning in it…

He closed his eyes a moment. That wasn't the worst nightmare he'd had in the weeks since That Week. The worst of the nightmares had Ianto and not him chained to a wall in the bunker, the younger, very mortal man being drown in concrete while he watched on, helpless to save him. He shuddered. He opened his eyes. Ianto was still sleeping peacefully next to him in their bed.

Jack feathered a soft kiss to his bare shoulder and laid his head against the younger man for just a moment, just to reassure himself that he was really real. Really there.

He murmured something unintelligible, causing Jack to smile.

"I love you," he told his Welshman softly, not wanting to wake him.

Ianto muttered something back at him. It might have been Welsh or it might have been Mandarin for all Jack knew, but it definitely wasn't English.

He chuckled softly despite the lingering memories of the nightmare, the reality behind it, and slid out of bed. The clock on the nightstand next to him read 3:03. He'd only gotten a couple of hours of sleep, but he knew he was up for the day. The nightmare had caused too much adrenaline to go rushing through his system. He crept out of the bedroom quietly, wrapping a bathrobe—Ianto's he realized on closer inspection—around his naked body.

He went down the hall to have a peek in at his two children. Not that he was being paranoid. He just wanted to make sure they were all right. It had been almost a month since the 'incident'—he was just as rattled as every other parent on the planet.

As he opened the door to Jason's room, however, his mind flitted back in time, another house, another life… Alice… she wasn't called Alice then, she was called Melissa. Lucia had changed their names when she left him. She claimed it was all to do with her quitting Torchwood on less than stellar terms, but Jack knew better. She'd earned the right to have a life of her own, no one would have forced her to take the retcon, not with a daughter to raise. No one begrudged her her freedom and no one thought for a second that she would betray the secrets she'd been privy to as a Torchwood employee.

It had only been almost a month since he'd seen his daughter and her son, his grandson, Steven, but Alice continued to make herself quite clear. She didn't want him coming around any time soon. She needed time. His life was too dangerous.

He didn't blame her, but it still hurt.

He pressed a soft kiss to Jason's forehead and stole back out of his room; in the room next to his, Seren was sleeping just as peacefully as her brother. Jack tucked the blanket up around her and thought about Alice again, about all the nights he'd crept into her room after a long, long day, just to sit next to her crib, just to be near her. He only hoped… he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

It would be one thing if he and Ianto stopped getting along, if the younger man didn't love him or want to be with him any more… if he did something his Welshman couldn't forgive… it would hurt. It would _so_ much… but as long as he didn't suddenly decide he was afraid of him, that he hated him… that he was dangerous…

"Jack?"

He blinked away his tears. "Sorry," he apologized. He must not have gotten up as quietly as he'd thought. Ianto was standing in the hallway looking at him, wrapped in his bathrobe—which was only fair, considering he'd inadvertently nicked the younger man's.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he lied. It was obvious by the look on his face that his husband knew it was a lie. Jack slid in closer, wrapped his arms around the other's waist, and kissed his forehead. "Go on back to bed, Sweetheart."

He wasn't so easily dissuaded. "You're having nightmares again, aren't you?"

"It's nothing," Jack lied again. He didn't want Ianto worrying about him, that was why he hadn't told him about them when they started, almost three weeks ago.

"Cariad…"

"I…it's nothing I can't handle," he said instead of trying to convince him it was nothing at all. "I'm all right." _Just as long as I have you_… but even if he didn't leave him, he would die. Someday he would die. Alice… Steven… Jason… Seren… they would all die. All but him. In the end, he would be alone…

Ianto pulled in closer, holding him tightly. "I love you, Jack. Just remember that. No matter what happens, I will always, _always _love you."

"Always is an awfully long time… you might get sick of me after a while," he teased, mostly to cover up how much hearing words like 'always' hurt. They wouldn't have always. If they were lucky they would have forty or fifty years, and Jack didn't expect to get that lucky. Ianto was right, he probably wouldn't live to see another decade and the thought of losing him…

"I could _never_ get sick of you," the younger man promised him vehemently, "not even in a million years." Then he smiled. "Although… there _are _times when I want to strangle you…"

He smirked. "Guess it's a good thing I'm immortal."

"Quite." He pulled away and headed for the stair.

"Where are you going?"

"To make you a pot of coffee. Jack," he said to the look the other was giving him, "immortal or not, yours is enough to strip the paint off the walls."

He chuckled—but tugged him forward by the collar of his robe for another quick kiss. "I love you, too, you know," he said in serious tone.

"I know that, Jack."

"Ianto…"

"Shhhh, let me get the coffee going," he kissed him again, thoroughly enjoying the feel of the older man's lips on his, those strong arms that had slid around his shoulders to hold him some more. "Then we can sit down and go over the final plans for rebuilding of the Hub." Or at least he sincerely _**hoped**_ the plans were final this time…

"You—"

"You're up. I'm up. Just deal with it, Cariad."

With a sigh, Jack gave in and fell into step behind him so that he could admire the view…

As it was, he ended up going over the final revision of Hub's new layout while Ianto looked over an expense report Martha had sent them. So far she and Lois were doing fine on their own, but even if she did relent and let Johnson onto her team, they were going to need more people to make Torchwood, London, a reality again.

It had taken Lois less than three weeks to uncover a dozen companies still held under the Torchwood umbrella; most of them were defunct, but a few were still paying into the bank account. That wasn't what worried Jack. What worried him was what they were going to find in the numerous old warehouses, basements, and various other holding facilities the two women had discovered in one of the data bases. Sarah Jane would probably be willing to lend a hand with some of it, but…

"Jack?"

The Captain looked up from his paperwork. "Hmmm?" Ianto was frowning. It wasn't a deep or unpleasant scowl, just a perplexed little look that he knew better than to call endearingly sexy. True though it was, saying so aloud was likely to get him hit.

"I've got an email from somebody called Amber Wilson," he said; it sounded almost like a question.

The older man quirked an eyebrow. "Never head of her."

"Me either. But there's an itemized bill attached…and apparently if we have any problems with the validity of her claim, we're to take it up with Bobby…"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

Thank you for the fantastic response this has gotten so far! As always, I am gratified by the faves/alerts and reviews!

I think, even though I can look at Jack and Ianto again without crying myself silly, that I'm still in need of lots of fluff-therapy, as is evidenced by the following…

* * *

**Chapter Two**

I love being married.  
It's so great to find that one special person  
you want to annoy for the rest of your life.

~Rita Rudner

* * *

"**Ziva!!"** Abby yelled across the terminal. As if anyone could miss her, even in a hugely crowded airport as she darted through the crowd uttering pleases, excuse me's, sorrys and thank you's as she went.

For the sake of her fellow travellers, the Israeli did her best to meet her half way. She was far less successful than the exuberant American at navigating the crowd.

"I've missed you so much!" Abby cried as she got close enough to fling herself at her former colleague, wrapping her arms around her so snugly it almost hurt. Ziva did not remember her as being so strong. Certainly she was not weak, but… "Oh my gosh, you look so good!" Abby held her at arms length for a moment and then hugged her again, forcing the air out of her lungs.

She chuckled, she couldn't help it. "I have missed you too, Abby," she said earnestly. Although they had not started out as friends, mostly owing to circumstances, but also because they were about as opposite as two people could possibly get, the Israeli felt a genuine and deep fondness for the other woman. "You look…happy, I think," she said at length. She had seen Abby happy before, but something was different now, something she could not quite name, but was real nonetheless. "Things are good, yes?"

The other made the strangest noise…a grunt? A groan, perhaps. "Everything is totally _**crazy**_ right now! Well, it's always crazy," she admitted. "But it's been even worse since… you know… last month…" she gave her companion a questioning glance, but whatever Ziva had been doing during all of that, it didn't seem to be something she wanted to discuss. Abby flashed what she hoped was an understanding smile—no one had heard much from Ziva since she was forced to go back to Israel. "It doesn't matter. Jack promised me that unless Raxacoricofallapatorians were landing right on top city hall again I have the whole day completely off."

Ziva gave her a perplexed look. "What is a…whatever you said…?"

"Raxacoricofallapatorians. Big…green… never mind," She slid her arm into the crook of the other woman's. "We the _whole day _to spend with together."

It would be the first time since last month that any of them had had a full twenty four hours off. Not that they didn't all understand why Jack had called for all hands on deck to dig out the Hub. There were places down there that no one but someone trained to handle alien technology should go poking around… and even then it was a little scary. Most of Jack's personal stash of really dangerous stuff had survived the blast unscathed… that meant it had to be moved to a safer location while the work crews cleared the rubble out of the surrounding area and rebuilt the Plass. Even the less dangerous stuff was too dangerous to let civilian workmen clear out by themselves, which was why UNIT was lending a hand at the moment. Jack's friend Sir Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart had pulled a few strings…she just hoped he got that colonel who had been put in charge of the 456 'incident' busted back to private and put on latrine duty for the rest of his career.

The Israeli gave over another questioning look, still wondering what a Raxa…whatever she had said…was. But perhaps it was something Welsh and she would understand it later.

"Come on," Abby said as she guided her out of the terminal, "we have a _bajillion_ things to do before meeting Timmy for tea."

"You really did not have to come out and pick me up, Abby. I could have rented—"

"Don't be silly. And don't even think about a hotel, either," she added in a tone that brooked no room for argument. "I have the guest room all fixed up for you."

"I do not wish to impose…"

"You're not imposing. A bridesmaid can't impose."

She blinked again. "A...?" _Bridesmaid?_ "Abby, we did not discuss…" she was _sure_ this had not been brought up when Abby asked her to come early, she would have remembered…

"Don't worry about it, everything's taken care of," she assured her. "All you have to do is pick out a dress. It's not fair to make everybody wear the same thing," she explained quickly, as she opened the boot of her car for Ziva's bags. "It just has to be black and you have to promise me you'll pick something you'll wear again. When my cousin Sadie got married, I had to wear this awful pink pom-pom!" (Ziva wasn't sure what a 'pink pom-pom' was, but given the look on Abby's face it must have been horrible.) "I burned it after the wedding," she went on, "which was a serious mistake. It was made of taffeta and tulle…" she grimaced at the memory. It had smelled like burning plastic… but it had been fun to watch it melt.

"Abby…" Ziva continued to protest as she slid into the passenger seat…but it was obvious that there was no winning. "What exactly is a bridesmaid supposed to do?" she inquired instead.

Abby gave her a look. "Don't tell me you've never stood up in a wedding before!"

"A Jewish ceremony, yes…but you and Timothy are getting married at a Catholic church, are you not?" Saint Tudno certainly _sounded_ Catholic.

She just rolled her eyes. "That doesn't matter. All you really have to do is stand there and look pretty."

The Israeli gave over a dubious look. "I am not sure…" but it was clearly too late to say or do anything to change the other's mind…

………………………………………………………………….

"Amber did _what?"_ Bobby asked his boss, leaning over Jack's shoulder to get a better look at the computer screen. Since the Hub was unfit for use, they had taken over Jack and Ianto's house for day-to-day business. Anything messier, bigger or more complicated got shipped to Martha…

The Australian had the distinct impression that at least one of the pair would be quite glad when they found a better alternative, but it wasn't like they could just go out and rent office space. In the meantime, Ianto suffered in silence…although it was obvious he wasn't especially happy with the arrangement.

The Welshman set a cup of coffee down at Jack's elbow then handed Bobby his before joining Wendy, seating himself on the arm of the settee.

"It really wasn't his fault," she told them quietly.

"Amber Wilson doesn't seem to think so," said Ianto, just as softly, over the top of his cup; he was talking more to Wendy than the others, but Bobby could hear him. Only his best friend saw his wry little smile; he was enjoying this, she realized. Or… perhaps not enjoying it so much as finding humour in the situation. No one had ever billed Torchwood for damages before.

Wendy returned his smile.

Bobby squirmed uncomfortably under the intensity of his boss's gaze. "It… we really couldn't avoid it," he managed. He missed the twinkle in the immortal man's eyes, a clear indication that he was just as amused as his husband.

Jack sipped his coffee. It was perfect. He smiled to himself a moment before turning his gaze back to the medic. "Why don't you two get out of here and do something _useful _for a change," he suggested in a gruff tone, casting only a brief look in Wendy's direction. "While I take this _**bill**_ up with my office manager," his brows shot up at the word 'bill.' As if that weren't enough of a giveaway, he swivelled in his chair and shot Ianto a lascivious smirk over the top of his mug.

The younger man (just barely) maintained composure.

Wendy drowned her chuckle in her coffee; Bobby opened his mouth but then shut it again. "I've got to drive up and see Martha anyway," he finally said, endeavouring to sound casual.

"Oh?" Ianto gave him a questioning look.

"Your 'bird' needs her monthly meds," the Australian grumbled. Jack, Ianto, Abby and Tim had tracked Myfanwy down in the first couple of weeks after the 456 were banished from Earth, but not having any place to house a creature as large pterodactyl in Cardiff, even a mostly tame one, the Captain had given the job of keeping her to Martha until the Hub was rebuilt. Martha was not amused. Apparently she hadn't been under the impression that 'prehistoric zookeeper' was in her job description; Jack's assurance that it was only temporary didn't make her any happier.

Ianto merely smiled. "Give Martha our regards then, would you?"

Bobby sighed. He might have said more, but Wendy was already on her feet, dragging him towards the front door.

Ianto eased up off the settee's arm as well, crossing the distance between he and Jack slowly. Purposefully. "About that bill…?" he teased.

"Yeah. The bill…" the older man murmured, tugging him gently forward by the belt loops of his trousers. Smiling, he eased his hands around to other's backside in a soft, appreciative caress.

"You know, I believe that constitutes harassment, Sir," the Welshman continued to tease.

He smirked. "You think so, do you? Well how about _this_…?"

"That…is…_ definitely_…harassment, Sir…" he managed to gulp out the words…


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**To everyone: **Than you for the reviews, fave, alert listings! As always, they make my day.

**LizieHR:** I should apologize for there not being too much of Abby and Timmy in the previous chapters… it was purely selfish, I needed a little more Jack and Ianto in my life. More wedding stuff follows the first bit of this chapter (a recap on why Amber is billing Torchwood, for those who asked for the explanation…)

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_Love does not consist in gazing at each other,  
but in looking outward together in the same direction._

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

* * *

Jack curled himself snugly against his husband's body and closed his eyes; he knew he was clinging, but as long as the younger man didn't mind… and he didn't seem to. Usually it was the other way around, it was Ianto curling in him in post-coital bliss, but somehow his Welshman knew that he needed to be held just then. He always seemed to know just what he needed. He snuggled in a little closer as strong Welsh arms held him tight, made him feel safe. Loved. Made him forget that someday he would be alone again…

Ianto gave a tender kiss to the top of his head. "I hate to bring it up," he said softly, "But what do you want me to do about that 'bill' from Amber Wilson?" he queried.

The older man smiled and opened his eyes, albeit reluctantly. He pressed a kiss to his partner's chest, coming dangerously close to his nipple…it was so tempting… however… "Pay it."

"You're serious?"

Jack shrugged. "It's kinda our fault her house got trashed."

The other endeavoured not to stiffen; he was only partially successful.

His Captain tilted his head up to look at him fully; there were angry storm clouds in those beautiful blue grey eyes. He hated that expression.

"You know how I feel," was all the young Welshman said in his own defence. It wasn't their fault, it was the fault of the men Johnson had sent to New Jersey. They had charged into the Wilson's house guns blazing so therefore_ they_ responsible for the damage done to the Wilson's home (or maybe Johnson was responsibe or Frobisher. Ianto hadn't fully decided who all he blamed for everything that had gone wrong last month.) "It was a bloody miracle no one was killed," he muttered. At least it was a miracle no civilians had been seriously injured, they'd just had the wits frightened out of them. He doubted very much that not hurting Bobby and Wendy had been anywhere on the soldiers' agenda; he doubted they cared who they frightened or what laws they broke, either. "I don't want that woman working for us," he stated, not for the first time.

"She would be working for Martha."

"Same difference, Jack, and you know it."

"How about we discuss it in six months?" he asked, gazing up with pleading eyes. He didn't want to fight.

The younger man gave in. "All right. I promise I won't bring it up again until she appears on our doorstep. _Then_ I'll tell you that I'm not having her."

"Fair enough… now…" he kissed his chest again, this time taking the other man's nipple not so gently between his teeth. Ianto's back arced under him in response to the sensation. He smiled into his skin. He kissed his way very slowly down his partner's chest, stopping at his hips, lavishing him with little kisses from one hipbone to the next and back again. "Mind if I harassed you some more, Mr Jones?"

The Welshman chuckled, running his fingers through his lover's...his husband's... soft dark hair. "You are positively incorrigible, Cariad, I hope you know that."

"Is that a complaint?"

"Nope," he murmured happily, closing his eyes as the other started feathering his skin with kisses again, "just an observation." Whoever said that a man's sex drive diminished with age had clearly never met Jack Harkness…

……………………………………………………………………

Ziva was relieved when she found herself faced with only one other person—other than an overly helpful saleswoman—in the dress shop. The other woman was apparently not just another hapless bridesmaid, she shopping for a wedding dress for herself.

"When are you getting married?" the Israeli asked her, in the attempt to make conversation after Abby was whisked off to try on her dress again. It had recently undergone a final alteration.

The woman, an American like Abby, who had been introduced to her as Sara Sidle, smiled up from the rack of wedding dresses she was pondering. She didn't appear to care for any of them. "We haven't set a date yet," she answered. "Probably in the spring."

"Ah."

Then they both started to speak at the same time, each asking a question—both laughed. "Please, you first," Ziva told her.

"I was just going to ask about your flight," said the American, ducking her head apologetically. Apparently small talk wasn't her strong suit, either.

"I was sitting to a man who would not stop talking," she gave over a small smile. The other groaned in sympathy. "You and Abby work together, yes?" Ziva queried then. "At the Torchwood Institute?" she couldn't help the way she made the name itself sound like a question. She had never been able to answer to her own satisfaction what the Torchwood Institute was or what they did.

Sara nodded. "What's left of it."

She gave a questioning look.

"There was…an incident last month. We should be moved back in by Christmas."

"I hope nobody was hurt."

Sara lied, shaking her head. "Only a few of us were there when it happened." She wasn't about to explain that Jack had been blown up but that he was fine now (not that she was fully convinced that he was fine. She still lived across the street from them and had seen the lights on downstairs on more than often than usual the past few weeks. A couple of times she'd gone over to check on him. He said he was working out the plans for the new Hub, but she knew he was lying…)

They were saved from having to attempt more small talk when Abby came out of the fitting room.

"Oh, Abby," the Israeli breathed. She had never been one to gush but she couldn't help herself at the sight of Abby in wedding dress. It not what she had expected—although truthfully, she had not known what to expect from her heavily tattooed former co-worker, a woman who collected bouquets of black roses on her birthday and whose favourite band was called Plastic Death. Perhaps in white the dress would have looked like a 'typical' wedding dress… or perhaps not… but in red, it was perfectly suited to Abby in every way. It was nearly sleeveless, having only small cap-sleeves made of lace, with a snugly fitted bodice that laced up the back, a ruffle of wide red lace at the hem and a heavily ruffled bustle in back (very reminiscent of Edwardian fashion, although that was not something Ziva knew anything about).

"Do you like it?" Abby asked her, twirling in place so she could see the whole thing. "I don't look like a red meringue, do I? Or a giant raspberry blancmange?"

(Sara stifled a quiet chuckle; this wasn't a new question. Ianto had made the mistake of sitting down and watching _Four Weddings and a Funeral_ with Abby a few weeks ago—they were all looking for simple, quiet, happy things to do in what little spare time they had lately. But between that and Abbs' appreciation for Monty Python, she had become paranoid that her dress would end up being compared to as food items.)

Ziva, however, did not seem to think so. "It is beautiful! Abby… it is… _you." _

She gave over a huge grin. "Do you really think so? You're not just saying that?"

"No. I am not just saying that, you are beautiful."

She rushed over, much to the obvious distress of the saleswoman who was trying to arrange the ruffle in back just-so, and gave her another bone crushing hug. "I'm so glad you're here, Ziva! I can't believe we're I'm doing this," she confided softly. "I can't believe he asked me…I can't believe I said yes! I mean… I guess I can believe he asked," she amended. She really could. She knew he'd always liked her.

"But you do not know why you said yes?" Ziva questioned, frowning.

Abby favoured her with a tight lipped smile, casting a quick glance over to Sara. "Life is way too short not to take every little bit of happiness that gets thrown your way and hang onto it as tightly as you can."

The Israeli regarded her a moment; it was not that she had never heard Abby sounding so serious. She had. But there was something different this time, something she could not clearly identify…

Sara's mobile phone rang. She fished it quickly out of her purse and flipped it open. "Yeah," was all she got to say before someone on the other end started talking at her… or so it seemed safe to assume, given the silence on her end and look of concentration the crept over her face. "I'll check it out and call back as soon as I can." She hung up without further ado and turned back to her companions. "Sorry, I've gotta run, something came up with work," she shot over an apologetic smile to both women.

"What happened?" Abby wanted to know.

"Probably nothing. Ziva, it was nice meeting you…"

"Sara!"

She sighed. "Someone from the transit authority called. They think one of us left a bad umbrella on one of the busses this morning and they're holding it at the lost property desk," she couldn't help but smile, despite the potential danger of the situation (especially since even Jack was sure it was nothing.) But of all the possible codewords anybody could have come up with for misplace alien tech…

Abby's eyes widened at the mention of a bad umbrella. "Don't tell me—somebody really left—?"

"Jack says no one left anything," the American assured her co-worker. "Like I said, I'm sure it's nothing, just some new piece of hardware some kid left on the bus. I was closest, so Jack asked me to check it out." After last month everybody was feeling twitchy; this was the second call on a bad umbrella since That Week.

"A…'bad umbrella'?" Ziva questioned.

"Maybe I should come with you," Abby volunteered. After all, if…

"Um, Abbs, you're still in your dress," Sara pointed out.

She didn't look happy.

"Besides," Ziva chimed in, attempting to be helpful, although she was not quite sure why (perhaps the tone in the other woman's voice coupled with first hand knowledge of how stubborn Abby could be), "you promised me you had the whole day off, remember?" Whatever was going on and whatever was really meant by 'bad umbrella', surely no responsible supervisor would send a single agent out to… she stopped mid-thought. Didn't they work for an _institute_ of some sort? Wasn't that typically a formal way of referring to a school or perhaps a research facility?

"All right," Abby gave in at last. "But be careful, ok?" she said in Sara's direction.

"Always. Ziva," she smiled her gratitude. The Israeli nodded in return.

"So…" So asked, when Abby came back out of the dressing room, having changed out of the gown, "what _is_ a bad umbrella?"

She opened her mouth but then closed it again. The last thing she wanted was for Jack to make her put retcon in Ziva's hot cocoa, too…. "Never mind. I'm sure Sara's right, it's probably nothing." She didn't sound happy…

* * *

**A/N: **

**What is a Bad Umbrella… **  
For anyone who has never seen it, I transcribed the **Official Torchwood** **"Alien Artefacts, Use & Abuse, A Handy Guide" **below.

I take absolutely NO credit for the following, it belongs to the BBC (or at least that's my assumption...but I'd like you to think about Jack and Owen as you read...)

**...................................Alien Artefacts, Use & Abuse...................................  
A Handy Guide**

_In your working life at Torchwood, you will come into ever day contact with ALIEN OBJECTS. Artefacts both unique and powerful. But never forget THEY ARE DANGEROUS._

_However, if you follow the outlines in this simple guide, you should find that you have no trouble using alien technology simply, effectively and safely._

_**NOTE: If in any doubt, please contact your Quartermaster.**_

_Some Dos and DON'Ts_

_Do…_

_Consult the relevant OBJECT ANALYSIS FORM (J3) before you do anything else. If you are the first to handle this technology, then making a J3 will be your responsibility. For help, see the Quartermaster's Secretary._

_Choose an EXAMINATION ROOM. These are isolated, secure chambers in which you can be safely sealed if anything goes wrong, preventing harm coming to your colleagues._

_Activate RECORDING EQUIPMENT. Either an audio-visual crystal or through remote-viewing security. It is important there is a record of your studies for those who come after you._

_WEAR GLOVES (either leather or kid), and any other relevant safety apparatus. May artefacts are touch-sensitive. Some bond with their owners on contact with skin—often amputation is the only safe from of removal._

_ACTIVATE A PSI-SENSOR before handling. Some objects respond telepathically to handlers. A brain-sensor will inform you of any such activity. Green means no activity. Amber means simple surface scanning of your brain. Red 1 indicates in-depth brain reading. Red 2 indicates read-write brain access being attempted. If this access is successful, then Red 3 will be triggered, you chamber will be sealed and an alarm will sound._

_Read ACCOMPANYING DOCUMENTATION carefully. In the rare case tah artefacts are found with their instruction manuals thorough translation should be attempted before any further handling takes place._

_Do consult the J3 CHECKLIST (especially sections "Gun, cooker or iron?" and "Telling front from back")_

_Do INFORM COLLEAGUES when using the object in field work. Establish a safe area of operation (Zone 1: six inches or less. Zone 2: six feet or less. Zone 3: six miles or less.)_

_DON'T…._

_JUST PUSH THE BUTTONS AND SEE._

_ASSUME IT DOESN'T WORK if it does nothing immediately (a ticking noise is usually a good indication. A is a sudden increase in temperature)._

_POINT IT AT COLLEAGUES, even in jest. Fatalities may result in disciplinary hearings._

_LEAVE OBJECTS on public transport by mistake. In the event of this occurring, contact the lost property office at once, using the codeword "Bad Umbrella"._

_TAKE OBJECTS HOME. Even overnight, objects can still come into contact with pets, children, or power and water supplies._

_DEMONSTRATE OBJECTS TO FRIENDS. We understand the temptation of creating a stir at a salon, club or cards evening, but must remind you that such actions are reprehensible. _

_USE OBJECTS FOR PERSONAL ADVANTAGE. This is a disciplinarily offence. Please note: We regularly scan your spouse, friends and servants for evidence of unauthorized brain patterning._

_GUESS WHAT IT DOES. Just because it looks familiar, doesn't mean it is (for more information, see pamphlet, "The Toothpick That Ate Henry)._

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

Thank you to everybody who has reviewed / read / fave/alerted this! Reviews help keep the Muses dancing (but everybody is appreciated, reviews or not.)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"_A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable  
but more useful than a life spent doing nothing."_

George Bernard Shaw

* * *

"You're right, it doesn't look like somebody's lost Gameboy," Mickey agreed when Sara showed him the 'bad umbrella' she'd picked up from the lost property office of the transit authority. It looked harmless enough, a small device made to be held about the way one would hold a Gameboy… _assuming the intended users were roughly human sized with similar hands,_ as Tim had pointed out when she first showed it to them. "What do you think it does?" Mickey asked. "And where did it come from?" because no matter what anybody said, he had not been the one to leave it on the ruddy bus. Just because he'd accidently left one thing behind him on the bus, _**once**_, he was never going to live it down.

He, Sara and Tim were examining the mystery object in an improvised workspace in an old small warehouse up the quay from where the Hub used to be. It was the same location where they using to house the alien tech from the Hub's vaults, as they dug it out with the help of UNIT personnel. (Jack had assured Martha that although the warehouse was big enough, it _wasn't_ a good place to keep a pterodactyl, even temporarily. Too much alien tech, too many people coming and going. He and Ianto weren't ready to tell UNIT, or anybody else for that matter, that the "flying lizard" that had been plaguing sheep farmers in Barry belonged to Torchwood. Even on a good night, she couldn't eat more than a couple of sheep, so there was no way Jack was going to believe that she was responsible for every loss that had been reported over the few weeks she'd been flying completely free.)

"It might be some kind of handheld game," Tim suggested, taking the device from Mickey and looking it over more closely. There were buttons where one's thumbs would go—albeit they were labelled in alien gibberish—and small screen. The button on the side was probably the on/off switch…when he touched it, the screen turned green. "Just because they're aliens, doesn't mean they don't like video games," he added when Sara shot him a look. Something flickered across the display screen, but it was incomprehensible. Maybe it was Interstellar Packman and maybe it was alien genome sequencing, there was no way to know for sure.

"How about we box it up and leave examining it until we have a more secure work space," Sara suggested then. She reached for the object. Just as she touched it, it sent an electrical shock through both her and Tim, sending the latter rocketing out of his chair; his fingers were singed black (not that anyone was paying any attention to his fingers.) He hit the wall ten feet behind them with a dull thud and slumped to the ground, eyes rolled back in their sockets, his muscles twitching. Sara simply collapsed where she was standing.

…………………………………………………………..

Tim opened his eyes to discover Jack and Abby hovering over him in a cloud of white…_more weird dreams, must be_, he thought. Thinking was difficult… "Head packed with cotton," he muttered, not realizing he'd spoken. If he closed his eyes the dreams would go away…

"Timmy?"

He opened his eyes again. Maybe it wasn't a dream this time? His head hurt. "Abbs?" Talking hurt. "Am I awake?" His whole body hurt.

"I don't know," Jack answered for her. "Do you feel awake?"

"Dunno," he murmured. Whispering didn't hurt any less than talking louder, but it was easier. "Think so. Maybe. Dreams…" he closed his eyes. So many strange dreams... too many clouds and colours…

"Timmy! Don't you dare pass out on me again!"

That was enough to convince him he wasn't dreaming any more, the cloud of white must be real, he just couldn't figure out what it was.

He opened his eyes back up. The cloud was still there, but it looked less fuzzy…just a wall, maybe? And that smell…antiseptic. Yuck. He wrinkled his nose. "Hey. Sorry." He managed a weak smile, mostly in Abby's direction. "Where am I?"

"St. Helen's hospital," Jack answered again. "What's the last thing you remember?"

The last thing…the last thing… "Sara… Is she ok?"

"She's fine," Abby told him. "And so are you." Her tone brooked no room to argue—not that Tim was in felt like arguing. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

"What happened to the device?" he asked. Sara had been reaching to take it from him…

"I locked it up with everything else," said Jack. "I'm going to have Bobby look it—and you—over tomorrow."

Tim nodded. He took note of the fact that Abby was wearing the same shirt she'd had on when they said good-bye to one another this morning—assuming that he was correct, it was still Tuesday, and he hadn't been unconscious long. He hoped. He asked.

"Long enough to scare the living daylights out of me, Timothy," his fiancée informed him tartly.

Jack just barely bit back a chuckle. "Five hours," he answered the question with a bit more precision.

"Wow. Sorry," he tried to sit up; both Jack and Abby pushed him back down.

"The docs say you should rest," said Jack. "So do I. They're keeping you over night."

Tim nodded. He wasn't in any condition to fight him. Or Abby. Every muscle in his body ached, every nerve felt as if it had been short circuited and he couldn't keep his eyes open, the lids were too heavy. He looked over at Abby. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You just get better, Timothy. That's an order."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Jack laid his hand on her shoulder, "We should go." He favoured the younger man with a wan smile that betrayed how worried he really was.

"I'm ok," Tim assured him. Her.

Abby nodded and leant in, brushing a feather soft kiss over Tim's forehead, leaving behind a bright red lipstick mark in her wake. "You get some sleep. Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah. Sorry," he felt his eyelids falling shut again. He tried to tell her to tell Ziva he was sorry, but the words wouldn't quite form…

Abby swallowed back the lump in her throat and let Jack take her back out to the waiting room; Ziva was sitting with Gwen and Ianto. Mickey and Wendy had gone back to the transit authority to see if there was any way to figure out where the 'bad umbrella' had really come from. Sara was being held overnight for observation as well; Gil was just arriving…

"She's fine," Jack said before the other man could ask. "I'll take you back to her room," he added, flashing an apologetic look towards his partner. Ianto seemed to understand completely.

Ziva gave an expectant look up to Abby.

"Tim's ok," she told her, taking a seat next to the Israeli. "But this pretty much tanks dinner. I'm sorry, this isn't how I wanted your first night in Cardiff to be."

"As long as Timothy is all right," she said. "Perhaps we can order a pizza…"

"Don't be silly," Gwen was quick to interject. "You can come over to our place—you too," she said to Gil, before he and Jack had cleared the waiting room door. "If…you know, after you've checked in on Sara. Rhys is cooking," she offered up a hopeful smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"_Much of the vitality in a friendship lies in the honouring of differences,  
not simply in the enjoyment of similarities."_

Author unknown

* * *

"Bloody Hell, Gwen," Rhys muttered only half under his breath when she rang him to let him know she'd invited 'a few' people to dinner. "Why don't you invite those blokes from UNIT while you're at it? And I hear there's a nice Army battalion—"

"If you've got a problem," she cut him off, the anger obvious in her tone, "just say so. I was only thinking of Abby."

He sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, it's just RJ's been fussing since I got home from work and my mother…well, never mind."

"What is it this time?"

"Nothing, Sweetheart," he sounded exhausted, exasperated. "You know how she can be. Stop off and pick up a few more steaks from the market on your way home, yeah? I'll make up some more beans and we've got plenty of cucumber salad. I'll even feed that Army battalion if you want," this time, however, he didn't sound snarky, he was just teasing her.

Gwen chuckled, "I think feeding Jack counts as feeding an army battalion," she grinning over in the Captain's direction.

"Hey! I resent that."

"Don't you mean you resemble it?" his husband queried, deadpan.

Jack shot them both a glower. "What is this, 'pick on Jack' day?"

"Haven't you heard? It's a new national holiday," Ianto teased him.

The immortal shot him another look. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side."

The young Welshman merely chuckled softly.

Gwen told Rhys that she'd swing by the market and Ziva looked over to Abby. "Your co-workers remind me of what it was like to work for NCIS." Although she tried not to let on how much she missed being her former co-workers. There had been some talk of getting her reassigned back to the United States, but so far it was just talk.

The other flashed a tight lipped smile. "Yeah. Except that at least _there_ nobody got zapped by a bad umbrella," she said, shooting a look over in Jack's direction.

"Hey. That _wasn't _my fault," he told her. "I thought it was going to be like the one we got a call on last week."

"I know," Abby conceded without arguing. "I'm just worried. About both of them," she added, casting a quick look in Gil Grissom's direction, as he returned to the waiting room to join them. "How's Sara?" she asked him.

"Tired. She asked me to tell the rest of you to get out of here already," he said with a wan smile, his own concern evident.

"Timmy was pretty sleepy too," Abby agreed; she wondered if that had something to do with the thing that had zapped them. But as much as she wanted to examine it herself, Jack had put his foot down. Until they had a secure facility, it was staying locked up tight no matter how much that pissed off the rest of his team.

"I'm sure they'll both be fine in the morning," Ianto told her. He sounded convincing.

"I'll be happier once Bobby has a look at them," was all Abby could say.

"Well come on then," Gwen did her best to marshal the team, lift their spirits. "Since there's nothing else we can do anyway, let's all go get something to eat—we're all headed to mine," she reminded Gil. "We just have to stop off at Tesco and pick up some more steaks."

"I really…" Grissom began to protest, still feeling a little awkward when it came to Sara's friends, her co-workers. They all seemed nice—accepting. Some a little quirkier than others (he never would have guessed that the Abby Scuito whose published work he'd admired for years was…well… she reminded him of a female version of Greg Sanders, not that that was necessarily a bad thing.)

"Please," she asked him now, big green eyes wide. "You have to come, you're part of our family, too."

("Does that make you 'Tad'?" Ianto whispered very softly in Jack's direction." The comment earned him a glower and the threat that if he kept it up, he'd find himself sent to his room—which of course was also Jacks room. Fortuitously, no one heard the Welshman's snicker.)

Before Gil could answer Abby's plea, Gwen was out of her seat, sliding her arm into his. "Come on, you can't leave Rhys to be the only 'Torchwood widow,'" she goaded.

Ianto looked up at his partner as he got to his feet himself. "Poor guy. He never had a chance, did he?" he asked.

The immortal man chuckled; he slid his arm around the other's waist in a way he wouldn't have done in public, even just a year ago. "He's not the only one," he winked.

Ianto pressed his lips to his husband's, something he wouldn't have done a year ago either—at least not very often. "Do you really think they'll be ok?" he asked quietly.

"They seem all right. But I'm with Abbs, I'll feel better after Bobby has a look at them."

…………………………………………………………….

Ziva hung back watching everybody closely for no other reason than it was in her nature to do so.

"Sorry about the mess," Gwen apologized loudly over the tops of everybody's heads as they herded into her modest home. "But, the baby's been a bit of a handful lately—hello Darling!" she scooped up the toddler (who let out a happy squeal) just as a big man stepped out of the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up and he was wearing a chef's apron with words written (presumably) in Welsh across it. "And you too," she added with a wink, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

"Do we all get to kiss the cook?" Jack queried.

"Just try it, Harkness, I dare you!" the big man retorted, shooting him a look; the Captain merely laughed all the harder for the other's expression. (His partner had already carried the sacks from the grocery into the kitchen and was sorting out what they had and what they needed and was it really going to be adequate because he didn't quite seem to trust Gwen's judgement on such matters…or so at least that was the impression the Israeli had gotten from the quiet Welshman when they paraded into the Tesco, en masse. He and Captain Harkness seemed an odd pairing… then again, Abby and Timothy seemed an odd pairing, but they surely must be happy or they wouldn't be getting married.)

"You must be Ziva then, yeah?" the big man said in her direction as he came at her, all smiles.

"Well duh," Abby answered him, steering her friend and former co-worker over to him. "Rhys Williams, this is Ziva David. Ziva, Rhys," she introduced them with a bright grin. Only Ziva saw that it was forced…or maybe not just her, she realized. They all looked a little strained, no matter that they were endeavouring to carry on.

"Nice to meet you," Rhys offered her his hand; she accepted. He looked over top of their heads and bellowed a warm welcome to Gil Grissom, clearly pleased to see the other 'Torchwood widow' (whatever that was).

"Is there anything I can help you with?" asked Gil (thankfully, he did not bellow. Much like Ianto Jones, he was a soft spoken man.)

"I think me an' Sam have it all sorted," Rhys was telling him. "I called him over to help after you told me you were inviting the troops," he answered the questioning look from his wife. "And your mam's on her way over with the kids," he added in the Captain's direction. Rhys shrugged to the question in his eyes as well. "I figured if we were having the whole gang over, might as well ring her up and invite her an' the kids, yeah?" he grinned, clearly pleased at himself.

Just then, a spindly looking kid in jeans and t-shirt that seemed too big for him came out of the kitchen to offer drinks while Rhys went back to cooking, politely turning down Jack's offer of assistance as well.

"I'd like my kitchen to stay in one piece thank you," Gwen teased at him.

"You let Ianto—"

"Exactly my point, Jack," she passed the toddler over to him. "Now make yourself useful and keep an eye on RJ for a minute," she told him, turning to offer Sam a hand with getting beverages doled out.

"Guess it's just you and me, huh, buddy?" Jack asked, bouncing the clearly very happy baby in his arms.

Ziva moved closer to Abby; she wasn't saying anything, but she could see the American's attention wasn't focused on the room. Ziva knew where it was. "I am sure Timothy will be all right," she said, even though she had no idea whether or not he would. Sometimes it was just the right thing to say.

"Yeah. I know. He will be," she gave over a forced looking smile, then glanced over in Gwen's direction. "And I guess it could be worse. At least I didn't wake up nine months pregnant on my wedding day…"

..........................................

Ziva found Ianto Jones in the kitchen when she went to refill her water glass. He was busy getting left overs put away for their hosts.

"Did you need something?" he queried politely, his manner denoting someone who was at ease in the Cooper-Williams home, even in their kitchen. Either that or he was just as neat as Abby had said he was—something his partner apparently was not, at least according to Ziva's former co-worker.

"No. Well. Yes, perhaps," Ziva gave in to her curosity. "I do not understand how easily you seem to… carry on," she said, struggling to find the right words. It wasn't necessarily that she didn't have faith in the doctors at St. Helen's, it just seemed odd the way the entire group was carrying on as if it were just an ordinary night with friends, even after Wendy Shutten and Mickey Smith had returned from their assignment, with very little new intel, at least as far as she could discern.

But Ianto merely smiled. "This is what we do, Ms David. We have supper, we laugh. I clean up the mess," he added in a dry tone. "If we didn't act like this, we'd go mad—but it doesn't mean we aren't all worried sick."

"I did not mean to imply—"

He waved it off. "No worries. Would you mind passing me the casserole…thanks…" he gave over a friendly smile.

"Would you like some help?" Ziva offered; it seemed unfair that one person was stuck doing all of the clean up.

"I'm about finished, but I suppose you and I should get to know each other a bit better."

She gave him an askance look.

"The wedding, I mean."

"Ah. Yes. You are in the wedding party, too?"

He nodded. "Best man."

"Congratulations," she said the only thing she could think to say.

He smiled. "The same goes to you."

"I—I am not sure I understand—"

"Best man—maid of honour…oh dear. She didn't tell you that part, did she?"


	6. Chapter 6

**

* * *

**

A/N:

Special thanks to Kitsa, just for chatting with me and helping me get going on this and for bouncing ideas off me—and letting me bounce ideas off her.

Also great big huge thanks to everybody who has continued to read and review. I appreciate your not giving up on me during the long lag in this one.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Six

"_To love is to admire with the heart; to admire is to love with the mind"_

Theophile Guatier

"_Nobody says you must laugh,  
but a sense of humor can help you overlook the unattractive,  
tolerate the unpleasant, cope with the unexpected,  
and smile through the day"_

Ann Landers

* * *

_Tim found Ianto in the archive room, which was where he'd expected him to be. Over the past six months, the two of them had been working on making electronic back ups of all Torchwood Three's records and files. So far they were up to 1999. Jack kept asking what could possibly happen to the archives, why an electronic copy of everything was so important—the archive room was environmentally controlled, even a hundred and fifty or so year old documents were in reasonably good shape and still there after a hundred and fifty years. Besides, he liked the feel of actual paper in his hands when he read something (which was where Ianto usually rolled his eyes and made some comment about how a man from the fifty first century shouldn't be so bloody archaic, especially when he was so fond of griping about the current century being 'the dark ages.')_

_For his part, Tim couldn't imagine why it had taken so many years for anyone to get around to backing up the old paper files with electronic copies. Their records were truly one of a kind, irreplaceable. But apparently they'd never had enough staff to spare for the job until recently, besides, which, Ianto had been the first person to take an interest in the archives of Torchwood Three in decades. But he was only one person and already had six other jobs; on top of that, Ianto kept telling their newest American addition that he was the first person to come along that he honestly __**trusted**__ not to 'make a muddle of it'. Apparently Jack wasn't the most organized person in the world—not that Tim needed anybody to tell him that. (The one time that he and Abby had pulled an all nighter together the Hub ended up looking as if a pair of cyclones had blown through, one going North-South, the other going East-West. After that it was decided that Jack and Abby could not be left alone unsupervised, ever again. Poor Myfanwy had refused to come out of her alcove for two full days.)_

_The young Welshman looked up when he heard footfalls in the corridor. He seemed surprised when Tim rounded the corner. "I though you were off today," he smiled anyway. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for your big trip?"_

_The American swallowed. He couldn't help but look as anxious as he felt about his and Abby's weekend trip to D.C._

"_Is something the matter?" Ianto queried._

"_Yes. No. Sort of," he floundered. "Not really."_

_The younger man smiled and set down the file he'd been about to re-file. "Nervous about the trip?"_

_"Yeah," he admitted._

"_You realize that statistically flying is the safest way to travel—certainly safer than Jack's driving."_

_Tim laughed. "You should try driving with Ziva—Ziva David," he clarified. _

_Ianto nodded. Of course he knew who she was. He knew everything—or at least everything that mattered. "And anyway, I thought you said your parents liked Abby," he stated._

"_It's not my folks I'm worried about," answered the other. Swinging through Boston to see his parents, his sister, telling them he and Abby were getting married… that was going to be easy. While his parents didn't exactly __**like **__Abby, they didn't dislike her, either. They were conservative, Abbs was… well, she was Abby. But he knew it wouldn't take her long to win them over._

"_You're nervous about seeing your old boss then?" asked the Welshman._

"_Yeah."_

"_I'm sure it'll be fine, Tim."_

_Something in the other man's tone made him feel better. He always seemed to have that effect on him. He was so… calm. Self assured. It was like nothing ever flustered him. Tim admired that. _

_He admired everything about him, in fact. At times that made him uncomfortable—not because Ianto Jones was a man, he'd admired men before, looked up to them. He'd practically worshipped the ground Jethro Gibbs walked on… he still did, a little. But Tim had spent so long being paranoid that people (especially people like his former co-worker, Tony DiNozzo), would think he was gay just because he was a geek, he wasn't macho. Yet here was a man who was married to another man (admittedly Ianto was bisexual and Jack… Jack didn't count, he was from three thousand years in the future…) but even so, Ianto was __**everything **__in a man that Tim admired (Jack was no slouch either, but it was a very different sort of admiration.) __**Ianto**__ was the kind of man Tim had always wanted to be. He was intelligent, sensitive, funny, __**and**__ he could take down an adult weevil singlehandedly without getting himself killed. __Plus he never would have let somebody like Anthony DiNozzo get the better of him. _

_Which was why Tim felt so embarrassed at how he'd always been so paranoid about being thought of as gay because he was pretty sure he'd gotten the whole gay thing completely wrong… and Ianto was giving him an odd look. It made him wonder if he'd missed something the other had said. Tim cleared his throat. "Got a minute?" he asked._

_Ianto's expression remained the same (Tim didn't realize how many minute he'd been standing there stalling). But he smiled and said 'sure' anyway. "Would you like to go up and get some coffee?" he asked._

_The other shook his head quickly. The last thing he wanted was an audience. _

"_Is something the matter?" the young Welshman asked then, genuine concern flickering across his features._

"_No. I erm… that is…there's something I wanted to ask you. I… " he cleared his throat again. "I know how much you're doing for us—Abbs and me, for the wedding," he said. "We both really appreciate it." Ianto had secured the church and taken care of all of the paperwork, not to mention finding the perfect caterer. He'd gone on endless cake tastings with Abby (and Gwen, Sara and Wendy, but it was Ianto's opinion she really wanted, she just couldn't exclude her brides maids.) He'd also arranged for the florist and photographer and about a dozen other details that Tim didn't understand but both Ianto and Abby insisted were vital._

"_It's been my pleasure, honestly," the Welshman smiled a truly genuine smile. _Fighting the scum of the universe by day, come midnight…wedding fairies… _he chuckled softly._

_Tim relaxed. A little. "Since I started working here, I really… that is… some of the things I thought when I first met you and Jack… You know I asked Bobby and Mickey to stand up with me, right?" he changed topic midsentence._

"_Naturally." Ianto's expression indicated that he might have some idea what Tim was hedging around, but the truth was he only knew the half of it._

"_I'd really like it if you would be my best man."_

"_Me?" he didn't mean to sound so shocked; he had expected Tim to ask him to stand up with him—it was certainly natural, although he wouldn't have minded if he hadn't either. However…. "I'm flattered of course, but are you sure? There must be people you've known longer—friends you're closer to."_

"_You met Tony. Would you want him planning your bachelor party?"_

_Ianto paused. He'd only met Tony DiNozzo very briefly last Christmas, but that was enough. "Point taken. But there must be other people in your life…?" Tim hadn't been working for Torchwood long enough to have lost all contact with the outside world yet—had he?_

"_I lost touch with most of the people I went to school," the American explained. "There are a couple I want to invite over for the wedding, but I don't know if they'll be able to make it. I haven't really talked to any of them in a while. I never had a lot of friends," he admitted. "I was always kind of a geek." _

_Ianto favoured him with a warm smile. "I would be honoured to stand up with you as your best man, Tim."_

_He heaved a sigh of relief. However, "You don't think Jack will be upset, do you?" he asked, genuinely concerned about hurting the older man's feelings._

_The other snickered. "He'll pout. Just ignore it, that's what I usually do," he advised. _

_Tim just smiled. Then he told Ianto who Abby was going to ask to be her maid of honour… _

And so Ianto found himself standing in Rhys and Gwen's kitchen with very highly trained Mossad officer who did not appear to be pleased with the situation—either that or she just didn't like surprises. "I honestly…I presumed she'd told you," he floundered.

Despite Tim's assessment of his personality, many things flustered the Welshman, things such as Ziva David's expression and the fact that she could probably kill him where he stood with only the kitchen implements within her reach. He only hoped she wasn't the sort to take out her ire on the messenger. Come to that, he hoped that Abby wouldn't be angry with him, either…

Ziva took a breath and let it out. "I see. She had not. I suppose it is something I cannot refuse, yes?"

"Do you want to?" Ianto asked, as startled by the question as he was by her tone. She sounded sincere.

Ziva turned away from the primly dressed young man… not that much younger than she was, really, she didn't reckon. And yet, even a few years ago, when she was his age, she had been nothing like she imagined Ianto Jones-Harkness to be. Her life…her life had always been what it was. Mossad. Her father. Of course when she was much younger there were things she never realized, didn't know, but growing up, looking back, especially in light of the things that had happened over the last few years... The last _month_. Instead of making her glad her life seemed less ordinary than the lives of the men and women in the next room, recent events made her wonder what she'd missed out on, especially when she looked at the children. She couldn't imagine how any parent could look at their government officials and not want to hurt them, and yet…

"Are you all right?" a soft Welsh voice drew her out of her thoughts.

"Yes. No. I do not know anymore," Ziva admitted softly, although she wasn't at all sure why. She had never been one to open up, least of all to a stranger. "I do not even know why I came here," she confided anyway.

"To be with Abby on her big day," he answered simply—and more remarkably, without hesitation.

The Israeli woman turned back around and studied him a long moment. She had had little contact with Tim and Abby over the past year, and only Abby had really spoken of her co-workers in enough detail for Ziva to get a feel for the kinds of people they might be—although she realized that Abby had a way of looking at the world through what the Americans called 'rose coloured glasses.' "You are a parent, no?" she spoke at last. "How did you—how is anyone supposed to… to cope with what happened last month?"

"You don't have children, do you?" Ianto asked her even though he knew the answer. Something like that would have come up on the background check Jack had insisted he run. Twice. And not just a superficial check, either, if there was dirt under her toenails, Jack had wanted to know about it. He didn't trust Mossad or Mossad Director Eli David, Ziva David's father.

"No," she answered his question. "That does not mean I… I… do not know how anyone who has children can carry on after that!" she told him. "But you have."

Ianto crossed the distance between them. "Like I said, it's what we do—what you have to do, really, if you don't want to go mad." That garnered a smile out of her; he wondered if she didn't think they were all a bit mad anyway. "Tell me, what were you doing when the 456 attacked?"

"There was nothing I could do. Nothing anyone could. My country has fought so long and so hard for peace, for a place where we could live, raise our children—" she faced him. Her tone was bitter.

"Yet your government was still willing to hand over ten percent of your children just like the rest of the world was."

"Yes."

"And you're angry."

"Yes. I do not know how to carry on as if nothing has happened. Something _did _happen. Something happened and no one can explain it to me, to anyone, because no one knows what really happened! I have seen the video footage that the Americans leaked out, although I do not know how they came by it," she added, mostly because she wasn't going to admit that there was a rumour going around Mossad—and other agencies—that Torchwood may somehow have been involved. Surely Tim or Abby would have told her if something like that were true… not that she would ever have asked. But if Torchwood was like Mossad or NCIS or the CIA or MI-6, there would be some record of them somewhere and Ziva had looked. There was not.

Ianto very carefully didn't react. Sara Sidle had sent the video they'd threatened the now-former Prime Minister with to friends of hers in Las Vegas. She was right, the governments of the world had to be made accountable for their actions—and inaction. "All that matters is that it's over now," he said.

"At least until the next time."

He smiled. "A very—well, I'm not really sure I can call him wise," his grin deepened, warmed, "but he certainly knows a lot more than you or I, at least about certain things—and he told me something a long time ago. It's not all aliens waiting to attack out there. There are worlds filled with people just like us, people just trying to get by. People falling in love, getting married, having babies… living their lives. Some day the human race will be out there too—that someday is coming faster than we realize. We have to be ready. We have to not be afraid."

She gave him a quizzical look. "Captain Harkness?" she hazarded.

"Yup."

"Tell me, Mr Jones. What were you doing when the aliens, the 456, attacked the earth?"

Ianto smirked. "I'd love to. But then I'm afraid I might have to erase your memory and I'm not sure Abby would forgive me."

Ziva blinked.

He just continued to smile. "Come on. We'd better get back out there before they start to think we're up to something—and Jack asks if he can join in."

…………………………………………………………………

_**AN:**_

Wow, talk about a chapter not going as planned… but I like it the way it turned out.

In case you haven't seen it yet, Xero Shane is hard at work at another great story, a Torchwood / NCIS cross over! It's called _**Love and Reason**_**. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**

Well, it's short, but I feel like I'm back on track again, even though almost 500 words of this were originally part of a stand alone chapter for Short Stories… then I decided to shift it over here since it takes place during the same time frame. Besides, I thought it would be fun for Shane to meet some of Jack's friends ;-)

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"_One kiss breaches the difference between friendship and love."_

_Author Unknown_

* * *

Tim couldn't sleep. Maybe it was that he'd spent so much time sleeping already, or maybe it was just the nagging feeling of guilt over what had happened. What _could _have happened if they'd been just a little bit less lucky this time because he _could_ have gotten himself killed. He could have killed Sara and Mickey in the process (and that's what he was the most guilty over.) He shouldn't have been fooling around with the alien tech, he shouldn't have been acting like a probie…he sighed. Maybe he was just antsy because he knew Tony was due in Cardiff in a few days. He hadn't asked his former colleague to come in early, he'd just decided to all on his own after he found out that Ziva was coming in early and Gibbs was already there—or rather that he'd stayed at Ducky's place in Scotland the last month. That was the beauty of being retired, their old boss had said, he could take a month long vacation if he wanted one. Tim had to admit that a vacation sounded nice, seeing as his last one had been cut short by an alien invasion. Not that it had been much of a vacation to begin with…

And he realized how casual that thought had formed in his head… alien invasions weren't supposed to be that routine. _Unless you work for Torchwood…_ Just the same, he wouldn't trade this new life in for anything. It wasn't just that he was sure if they were still back in DC that Abby never would have agreed to that first date …or whatever it had been. It was really more like a twelfth or thirtieth date, it was just that their last date before it had been several years ago.

They'd only dated briefly back then before she broke it off. Honestly he'd been surprised she said yes in the first place, that first time he asked her to lunch. But that was another story, just like the tattoo he got for her (even if it was dedicated to his Mom—his Mom who had _not _been amused the first time she saw it, something he'd hoped would never happen. It hadn't taken her long to blame Abby, all she had to do was see a picture to figure it out, tell him he shouldn't be dating the sort of girl who would 'do that to herself'. He wasn't sure his mother had ever forgiven Abbs for the tat, no matter that she hadn't asked him to do it. But she _had_ liked it. That was all _he_ cared about.)

But that felt like an entire lifetime ago. Maybe two lifetimes.

For their first date in Cardiff, he'd taken Abby to a little Italian place Ianto recommended. He'd been (extremely) anxious about asking his boss to recommend a nice place to eat (he hadn't even asked Abby out yet; he wasn't sure she'd say yes.) Even though Torchwood clearly didn't have a Rule Number Twelve, he wondered how any of them would feel about the new guy, the probie, asking her out at all. It was obvious how protective both Ianto and Jack were. The Welshman, however, had smiled and seemed genuinely pleased to be consulted about a restaurant.

Tim tried to convince him and Jack (and Abby, and Mickey and the rest of the team and even himself) that it was just a casual dinner between friends. He wasn't fooling anybody and he knew it, even though he kept denying it. No matter how many other women he'd been out with since meeting her—admittedly not very many, at least not seriously, blind dates set up by his editor just didn't count—Abby was always The One. Being able to remain, to become, good friends with her after they broke up only made him love her all the more. Respect her all the more.

Which hadn't made him any less nervous as headed back to her flat after that first date in Cardiff, especially when she slid her arm into his after they got out of her car.

"_So…I'd ask you if you were going to walk me up, but I guess you live here too," Abby grinned at him. She was wearing a black lace dress that she'd found in some antique shop with her hair done up in two little 'balls' on top of her head, instead of her usual pigtails or braids._

_He squirmed uncomfortably at her comment. "Yeah. I… I guess I should start looking for my own place." He tried to hide his disappointment. It was silly. He knew he couldn't stay with her indefinitely, but it had been nice, living together for a little while, even if he'd been on the settee, which meant it wasn't really living together of course. Still, morning coffee… breakfast… other than the fact that she was embracing her adopted culture and sometimes the things the Welsh considered breakfast food frightened him a bit. And the fact that she still squeezed the toothpaste from the middle of the tube and tended to leave dirty tea and coffee mugs all over and had apparently still not discovered what coasters were supposed to be used for… But it was still nice. He liked being around her. Only it was really unfair, too… _

_And Abby was looking at him funny. "You don't have to. I even made you a key," she said, in what Tim would have sworn was a happy, hopeful little tone, producing the shiny new key from her velvet purse. "I was going to give it to you when we got home," she added. _

"_I… I appreciate you letting me stay with you," he stammered. He'd only been allowed to leave the hospital on the condition that he had someone to keep an eye on him for a while, just to make sure there were no lasting effects from the 'alien angel dust' he'd inhaled. It was his own fault. "But…" but she was right, it was time for him to move._

"_Timmy." She positioned herself between him and her front door, even though she'd already unlocked it so they could go in. "You don't have to move out."_

"_You only have one bedroom…"_

"_I know that. Now are you going to kiss me good night or are we going to stand on our front porch arguing all night?"_

"_Erm... I think I'd like to kiss you good night."_

"_Good answer, McGee." _

He smiled. He closed his eyes.

And he still couldn't sleep. He contemplated calling her, Abby was a night owl by nature… but maybe she'd been out with Ziva all evening and was tired, and if that was the case, he didn't want to wake her up just because he had insomnia. Then it occurred to him that he knew of a couple of other people who weren't likely to be sleeping at this hour. He didn't want to wake Ianto by calling Jack—and he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to his boss anyway, not in the wake of an act of such unparalleled stupidity—but it was only barely midnight back home and he hadn't talked to his sister, other than a brief check-in the day after the 456 were vanquished, in months. He still owed her an explanation for exactly why his trip to the States had been cut short before he got to visit her and Mom and Dad.

They were still talking when Bobby came in to check on him at six o'clock in the morning, Cardiff time. Abby and Ziva were just a few steps behind him. He smiled when he saw his fiancé; she grinned back, practically bouncing when she saw he was awake.

"Right then," said the. "Let's see if we can't get you up and out of here in time for your wedding," he teased.

Abby smacked his arm. "You'd better give him the all clear Bobby!"

Ziva merely watched…

………………………………………………………………………..

Jack pulled Shane Bruster into his arms, almost lifting the young man up off the ground (if he didn't miss his guess, Shane had lost weight since he'd seen him last.) Having him back safe and sound in Cardiff was distinctly better than having him _say_ he was fine over the phone, even if the reason he knew Shane was back was because funding had run out on his most recent project. Jack felt guilty about that, although it hadn't been his fault directly… still, the government was in no small amount of turmoil in the wake of everything that had happened—and the video that had 'accidently' leaked to the public, via Sara's friends in Las Vegas. Not that he'd exactly sanctioned the move, but he couldn't fault her for her actions, either.

"You really didna have to pick me up," the younger man insisted at him. Even first thing in the morning, airport was packed. It seemed worse than usual, more people wanting—needing—to be with friends and family after what had happened. "I could've managed…" but the look his relative was giving him suggested that he would beg to differ. Shane had yet to establish exactly how he and this Captain Jack Harkness were related, just that they had a common ancestor in Great Granddad Captain Jack Harkness. "Are you really all right, then? You know the whole—whatever it was last month—?" he asked. There wasn't a parent on the planet who was really all right, but… "And the kids?"

Jack just smiled. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Jason and Seren, too," he told him. He draped one arm over his great grandson's shoulders. "Come on, let's get your gear and get out of here. I just have to make one stop and then I'm free for the day," he added.

"Oh?"

"I…a couple of friends are in hospital. We should probably pick up some grapes," he added with a wry grin. Like the rest of the Americans who had joined his team, neither Tim nor Sara understood why people always bought grapes when they visited hospitals. He wasn't quite sure why they did it either, but it was a bit more practical than flowers, he supposed. All that really mattered was that Bobby had rung him to say he'd seen them and Tim and Sara were both doing fine, he just wanted to a few more tests before giving them the official 'all clear' to return to duty.

"Nothing serious, I hope?" said the younger man.

He couldn't help but smirk, "Nah, just an incident with an umbrella."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**

Thank you for the reviews and for being so patient with me.

I'm sorry I've taken so long to update this one; it's not going to go on collecting dust, I promise. Just a reminder, that this one is set in October of 2009 (ok, so I need that myself, because I've got story threads all over the place!)

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"_Your friends will know you better in the first minute you meet  
than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years."_

Richard Bach

* * *

"**Hey, McGeek!"** Tony's voice boomed across the crowded Plass.

Tim turned towards the sound and forced a smile; he returned the other's eager wave with something a little less…well, less eager to say the least, as he tried to ignore the curious stares of passers-by.

It was hard to believe that just a little over a month ago there had been a gaping hole where he was currently standing. The construction crews had repaired the damage to the street level first; the Plass was perfect, all evidence of the explosion had been erased from the scene and life went on as if nothing had happened (although even that was only a façade, Tim could see it in the eyes of those passers-by he was trying to ignore). Nothing, however, would ever completely erase the memory of what had happened that day from the minds of the people who had been the most deeply affected. He hadn't been there, but that didn't make it any less horrific; the explosion that had created a giant crater in the middle of the Plass had come from a bomb planted _inside _Jack. Tim didn't blame Martha for not wanting to work with the woman who had put it there—but that wasn't his call.

He forced his attention on the man walking towards him wearing a bright smile, and felt the knot in his stomach tighten. It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to spending a few days catching up with Anthony DiNozzo—he liked Tony, he really did. _So why are you trying so hard to convince yourself?_ Tim wondered silently as they met near the fountain. Maybe it was just his recent encounter with a bad umbrella… Bobby had assured both him and Abby—and Jack and everybody else—that there was no lasting damage, but he still felt… different. _Or maybe I'm just not the person I used to be,_ he mused. Maybe it was like their medic said, working for Jack, for Torchwood, changes a person's perspective about the universe and his place in it… he didn't have any more time to ponder the matter, Tony was on him, talking:

"Long time, no see, huh?" he greeted Tim with a handshake and half-hug, clapping his back just a little too hard. (What Tim didn't know was that the firmness of his handshake surprised his former co-worker. Last Christmas aside, they had seen little of one another since Tim had left NCIS—and Tony remembered very little of last Christmas.)

"Yeah. Yeah, long time no see," he agreed, forcing a smile so as not to seem rude.

"So where are Abby and Ziva?" asked Tony. "Off doing girly things, getting ready for the Big Day? Facials and… manicures. Oooh, _pedicures_," he made a face. "Right now some poor schlub is playing with Ziva's _feet_… I wonder if she'll have her toenails painted," he grinned. "What d'you think, McQueer Eye," (as in Queer Eye for the Straight Guy) "is Ziva more a hot pink or candy apple red? Personally, I'm thinking—"

"Actually, they're having lunch with Ducky and Gibbs," Tim cut him off so he wouldn't have to hear any more of the other man's ridiculous speculations or name calling. Just because he read GQ and watched the Antiques Road Show, didn't mean he was gay. The fact that he was getting married in a week should prove that… and it infuriated him that it was only when he was around Tony that he felt the need to prove anything.

"Oh," said Tony, to the announcement that Abby and Ziva were with Gibbs and Ducky. "Ok. So what's on the agenda for us, then? I've already had lunch, if you can call that stuff they served on the plane 'food'—but hey, I've had worse. I spent the last year onboard a navy ship."

"Yeah," Tim agreed, trying to be empathetic. He hadn't eaten lunch—he'd planned on grabbing a bite while they were out and about, but that didn't really matter. "I've got a couple of errands I have to run and then I have to get back to work—"

"Back to work? Come on, it's not like the world is going to end if you take the afternoon off to show your best friend around Cardiff…or how is it they pronounce it over here? Caw... Cayr..."

"_Caerdydd_," the word rolled easily off the other man's tongue.

"Right," was all Tony had to say in response. "I think you've been spending too much time with that boss of yours, what's his name, the gay guy?" as he said it, he flipped Tim's tie out of his waistcoat. "You're even starting to dress like him," he added. "People are going to start wondering about you, Probie."

Tim tucked his tie back in, doing what little he could to hide his indignation. "Ianto isn't gay," said, even though he knew it was a waste of his breath, which was why he didn't bother correcting Tony that he wasn't a 'probie', a probationary field agent, any longer. Torchwood didn't have probies. "And what's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he asked, instead. His shirt was light blue and his suit was classic black. The tie was made up of alternating bands of dark blue, silver and burgundy. And if Tony had asked, he would have told him that yes, Ianto _had _helped him pick it out; Tim asked him to. The senior archivist had good taste, Tim appreciated that.

Tony ignored his question in lieu of one of his own. "I thought he was… you know… with your other boss?" he made a hand gesture.

Tim smacked at his hand and tried not to feel too embarrassed, because really, it wasn't him making a fool of himself…still… "Can we just go?" People were staring.

"Sure thing, Probie, where to first? Oh, say, what's the plan for the ol' bachelor party?"

"Ianto is handling that," he told Tony.

"The gay guy?" he balked.

He sighed. It was going to be a long couple of hours. "He's not gay," he repeated as they headed towards the car park and his SUV. It was smaller than the 'company' car, and hybrid, like Ianto's—but it wasn't bright red. Thankfully, Jack only got to exert his colour preferences over his husband's vehicle. Tim had read a study that reported that people who drove light blue, silver or white vehicles got into fewer accidents. He'd opted for the silver with a nice light grey interior. (And of course Abby had helped him 'break it in' properly…)

"Whatever," Tony was still on the subject of Ianto's sexuality. "Why is _he _handling your bachelor party?" His tone was accusatory. He was also standing on the wrong side of the SUV.

Tim cleared his throat.

"It's not my fault you people drive on the wrong side of the road," grumbled Tony, as he trudged around to the other side.

"Statistically—"

"Never mind the statistics, McNerd," he opened the passenger side door and climbed in, "just answer the question. Why is your boss handling your bachelor party?"

Tim stalled as best as he could. He put on his seatbelt, started the engine…adjusted the mirrors that didn't need adjusting… finally when there was nothing left to do to put it off, he said, "Because that's what the Best Man does."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**

Thank you again for being so patient with me and of course for the wonderful reviews!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**23 October, 2009  
(the same date a the last chapter)**

"_Difference between law and in-law is you can justify yourself before law but never before in-laws."_

Annon.

* * *

"Is something the matter, Abigail?" Ducky finally asked the question that had been plaguing both he and Jethro throughout their luncheon. (They were in the same little café where Abby had asked him to walk her up the aisle.) It appeared as if Ziva noticed something amiss with the bride-to-be as well.

Abby sighed and put down her fork. She'd hardly touched her salad, anyway.

"Are you experiencing…what is the expression? Hot feet?"

"Cold feet," Gibbs smiled gently at the Israeli woman.

"Abigail—"

"It's not that," she promised them. "Timmy's parents are coming in tonight," she said, as if that explained everything.

It did explain it to Ziva. The night that Tim and Sara Sidle had spent in hospital, Abby had spent talking to her, well into the night, over several bottles of wine. After the second, or perhaps the third, bottle of merlot had been uncorked, Abby began to speak of her future in-laws. Apparently, Timothy was mistaken in his assessment of his parents' feelings towards Abby. According to her, his mother still blamed her for his tattoo, something Ziva had known nothing about herself until that night. She was relatively certain she could have gone on much longer without the knowledge that Timothy had a tattoo of the word 'Mother', something the woman in question did not find at all flattering—but what Abby most dreaded Tim's mother discovering that since moving to Cardiff, he had acquired a second tattoo, for which she would also most certainly also be blamed.

Abby had speculated, entirely the result of the wine, Ziva was certain, that Tim might be out to sabotage her relationship with his mother… which was silly. She had said as much at the time; shortly thereafter, she poured Abby into her bed—thankfully not coffin shaped—and went to find the guest room. Thus far, her visit to Cardiff had been quite a divergence from life as she was used to it. She tried very hard to ignore the dull ache deep inside… she missed the life she had had in Washington D.C.

"His parents hate me!" Abby moaned, to Ducky's questioning look—Gibbs remained his usual impassive self.

"I'm sure they don't hate you, my dear," the retired Medical Examiner soothed.

"Yes they do. The worst part is that Timmy doesn't even know."

"Why don't you give them a chance?" Gibbs advised her, sounding almost exactly like Jack. "Once they get to know you—"

"They don't want to get to know me! We're supposed to have breakfast together tomorrow and Timmy wants to cook for them instead of taking them out and that means they have to come over to ours—"

"Breathe, Abby," said Gibbs.

She stopped speaking and took a deep breath. She let it out. She didn't feel any better. "They hate me," she repeated.

Ducky shot the other man a questioning look; Gibbs gave over a shrug. Gibbs had met Tim's parents a couple of times, Ducky had never had the pleasure.

"Timmy wants Jack and Ianto to come over too," Abby went on.

"Oh dear," was all Ducky had to say on that matter.

"He's promised to behave himself," she told him. They all knew she was speaking of Jack; Ianto always behaved himself.

"What exactly do Timothy's parents know of what you do?" asked Ducky, just as tactfully as he knew how.

She shrugged. "Just that we work for a place called Torchwood, not what Torchwood does." She sounded glum.

Ziva refrained from comment on the subject of the Torchwood Institute. Even after sharing three bottles of wine with Abby a few nights ago, she still did not know what her former co-worker's job really was…

* * *

"_A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are."_

Annon.

* * *

Tony sat for several long seconds without saying a word; Tim held his breath without meaning to. The silence was worse than the explosion he expected. Finally Tony forced a smile, which made him even more nervous.

"All right," he said.

Tim blinked. "All right?"

Tony shrugged. "It's your big day. I just…I figured…guess it doesn't really matterd what I though," he forced another tight smile. "So where to first, McGee?" he asked.

He consulted his PDA—Tony just stared at him.

"What?"

"You don't know what you have to do today without checking that thing?"

"I've got a lot going on, I don't want to forget—"

"Gimme that—"

"Hey! Tony!" but it was too late, the other already had it out of his hands. Tim barely kept the SUV under control. Grumbling, he settled back into his own lane, giving an apologetic look to the driver he'd nearly cut off.

"Let's see… Mario's Flowers, dry cleaners… Tux shop…looks like you need to call somebody named Dorothee McShane about…"

Tim grabbed it back and shut down the screen.

"Who's Dorothee McShane?"

"Nobody you need to worry about."

"Don't tell me you're having an affair—"

Tim shot over a dark look. "She's a friend of Jack's. He asked me to get in touch with her about…it's about work, ok?"

"I'd say he's having an affair but…"

"It's for work," he repeated.

"So what are you, his secretary?"

Tim sighed.

"And how come 'spending time with best friend' wasn't on your list of things to do today?" the wanted to know. "Don't I even rate an entry into your PDA?"

"Tony—"

"I mean, here I am, in Cardiff to spend time with two of my very best friends in the whole world, who just happen to be about to get married to each other, and what do I find when I get here? I'll tell you what. I find _you_ haven't even pencilled into your oh-so-busy schedule and Abby is too busy having lunch with Gibbs, Ducky and Ziva to be here at all."

"Nobody asked you to come in early," Tim protested. "Abbs made her lunch date with Gibbs and Ducky weeks ago."

"You asked _Ziva _to come early."

"_Abby _asked Ziva to come early."

"Fine."

"Tony—"

"I'll bet you didn't ask Ziva to find a hotel, either."

"I told you already, we only have one guest room!"

"I could always take the couch."

"Fine." Tim gave in. It didn't help (or hurt depending on one's side of the argument) that Abby had given him the same dark look as Tony was now, when he told her that they didn't have the room to put up both him and Ziva.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. If it'll make you happy, you can sleep on the couch, but we're getting up early tomorrow morning," he cautioned. "My parents are flying in late tonight and I'm cooking breakfast for them tomorrow. I didn't ask them to come early, either," he added before Tony could start in on him again about not having been invited to spend extra time with them.

However, "You cook?" was all he wanted to know.

"Yes, Tony. I cook." He pulled over to the curb in front of the florist shop and cut the engine. "I'll just be a minute. You don't have to come in if you don't want to."

"Hey, the least I can do is be supportive of one of my _very best friends,_" he was out of the SUV before Tim. "Just tell me she didn't order black roses," he grimaced at the thought.

"Red and white."

He shot over a questioning look.

"The flowers are red and white."

"Sounds… nice," he didn't seem to know what to say. "So ah… if that Ianto guy is your best man, who else is standing up with you?" he asked in a hesitant tone as they entered the little shop.

"Bobby and Mickey—two of the guys I work with," Tim added, doubting that Tony remembered them from his visit last Christmas.

"Oh. Right. Of course, how stupid of me. Bobby and Mickey. Your long time pals, best buds, your--"

"If there's something you want to say, just say it, ok?"

"What could I have to say, McGee? Just because we've been friends longer than you've even _known_ these other guys—"

"We worked together Tony. We were never really friends."

Tony stopped in his tracks. "Excuse me?" he sounded genuinely surprised.

"Look… I didn't really mean… I…" he floundered. He hadn't meant to say that aloud, he'd just been frustrated by the other's attitude. "I just meant—"

"Do go on McBenidict Arnold," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me how the guy who _always_ had your back isn't _really _your friend."

"I didn't say—I know you've always had my back, Tony," he said.

"So how come Mickey and Bobby get to be grooms men, this other guy gets to be your best man and where does that leave me? Walking great granny McGee up the aisle as an usher—or am I not even good enough for _that_?"

Tim opened his mouth and shut it again before finally asking why Tony had never invited him out for a pint after work, back when they still worked together in DC.

"Out for a _pint_?" the other snapped. "What is this, not even a year here and you're starting to sound like you've got a Union Jack tattooed to your…"

Tim cut him off. "When did you ever ask me to go out for a _drink_ after work?" he demanded. Thankfully, the only other person in the shop was the girl behind the counter; she seemed to be making a point of ignoring them. Tony was talking:

"I don't know. But I must have, right… just because I didn't keep track—"

"Try never, Tony. You _never _asked me to have a drink with you after work. You never invited me out for dinner. You never even asked me to go to a movie with you."

He blinked. "Never?"

"Never."

"I must have—"

"You didn't." The venom had drained away from his voice as he realized that the other honestly didn't get remember that they had never hung out, out side of work.

"Ok, so I just figured you were busy," he said, sounding defensive.

"No, Tony, you just figured I would cramp your style. And you're right, I would have. We don't have anything in common. We never did."

"We have stuff in common! I mean… just because you're a McGeek…"

Tim sighed. But then he changed his mind. "You're right," he agreed.

"I am?"

"Yes. I play video games and collect comic books. I write crime novels." _I can take down a Weevil without getting myself killed_… but he'd almost gotten both himself and Sara killed just a few days ago because he had neglected basic protocols. That made it his fault, no matter what Jack said. Tim shoved his hands into his pockets. "I…I don't honestly know what you like doing in your spare time, Tony," he stopped just short of saying what he really thought the other man did in his spare time. He knew the words perched on the tip of his tongue were bourn of anger and frustration, most of it not even directed at the man standing in front of him. It was aimed at the kids who had made his life Hell growing up, all the tough guys and the jocks, the kind of guy Tony had probably been as a kid. The kind of man he really wasn't any more.

If Tim learned anything at all working for Jack, it was that people were complex. Complicated. Tony was no exception—in fact, he might be one of the more complicated people he'd ever met. Tony could be crass, rude, obnoxious…but when the chips were down, he knew Tony would have his back no matter what. He'd never, ever doubted that.

It was just the rest of the time, the downtime. It was Gwen and Rhys ringing him and Abby up to come over for dinner or being invited out for a pint with Mickey or Bobby after work. It was impromptu basketball games in the Hub (and being ever mindful of the pterodactyl who occasionally liked to join in) or going to Jack and Ianto's for some of the Captain's "galaxy famous" chilli (and remembering to have plenty of antacids on hand for afterwards.)

It was knowing that the world really could come to an end at any moment and that he was one of the people who had stopped it from ending a little over a month ago. It was what Bobby had said to him about this job, about being a part of something bigger than he was—bigger than all of them put together, even Jack.

"Why don't you just say what you're thinking, McGee," Tony was still goading at him, although Tim could tell that he was more hurt than angry.

"We're two different people, that's all."

"And two different people can't be friends?"

He sighed. "No. I mean yes, different people can be friends." _Just look at Abbs and me. _"I'm just saying that if we hadn't ended up working together we wouldn't have been friends."

"Ah-ha!" Tony cried out, pointing an accusatory finger at the man next to him

Tim regarded him. "Ah-ha?" he queried.

"You just said that we were friends. Admit it, Probie! You like me."

He sighed. "All right. _Maybe_," he didn't miss the hurt look on Tony's face. "Yes, I like you—some of the time. The rest of the time you make me feel… you drive me crazy," he admitted. "Always teasing me, calling me names, making fun… but look, it doesn't matter. I just…I'm sorry for what I said. I guess it just…it hurt my feelings that you never wanted to hang out with me outside of work," he admitted.

"I guess I didn't figure you ever wanted to…you know, hang out," he said, surprising the other. "You're right about not having anything in common. And you would have cramped my style, Probie, _especially _with the ladies," he added with a half grin. "But you could have asked too, you know. It might have been fun to 'go for a pint'," he couldn't resist teasing, despite what Tim had just said.

He chuckled, too. However, "Yeah, I guess I could have," he admitted. He pulled out his mobile.

"What now?" Tony wanted to know.

"I'm calling in for the rest of the afternoon. I haven't had lunch yet and airline food sucks," he said bluntly. "There's a great pub over by the university. I figured we could go for a pint and grab a bite to eat."

"Ok, but you're paying. But no fish and chips," he added suddenly, as an unexpected sudden wave of queasiness came over him out of nowhere. "I don't know why but…"

Tim laughed, "Yeah, ok, no fish and chips," he promised, smirking, as he dialled the Hub… just so long as the world wasn't coming to an end—and there were no Blowfish in town—he doubted Jack would mind his skipping out of the rest of the day.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:**

Thank you again for being so patient with me and of course for the wonderful reviews!

Ok, so **Bones** fans… after tonight's episode, I really can't wait to get back to Ossuary… Angela and Wendell… nope, just doesn't do it for me. (Yeah, I know, they've actually been an item for an episode or two, but tonight's just synched it for me how much Angela and Hodgins were meant for each other.)

And last but not least… since I can't remember ever seeing Tim's parents on screen, I decided to have a bit of fun with casting. In the roles of Amanda and Mike McGee (Timmy's parents), I've cast Mary McDonnell and Eric Pierpoint. The former is pretty well know, the latter not so much so, but they're both terrific actors.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**24 October, 2009**

"_Children are not our property, and they are not ours to control  
any more that we were our parents' property or theirs to control."_

Richard Bach

* * *

Abby looked at herself in the mirror. So far, she'd tried on six different outfits—six of her favourite outfits. She didn't like the way she looked in any of them. It was worse than when she was meeting Jack for the first time. "At least I could just be myself with him," she grumbled at her reflection. Of course at the time she hadn't known she could be herself, but she'd had Ducky's advice to fall back on, his conviction that they would like each other. And of course he'd been right.

"Abbs?" Tim called from the other side of the bedroom door; she'd sequestered herself away over twenty minutes ago, shooing even him out of the room while she was getting dressed. "Abby?" he repeated when she didn't answer straight away.

"Yeah—almost ready," she lied. She wasn't almost ready. She wasn't ready at all. She'd braided an unbraided her hair almost as many times as she'd changed clothes. Finally she just took her pigtails and bunned them both up, creating a pair of little balls on top of her head.

"Mom and Dad'll be here any minute," he reminded her, entirely needlessly.

"I know!" she snapped back at him. "I just need another minute, Timmy," she promised in what she hoped was a less snarly tone. It wasn't his fault she was nervous. And she shouldn't be nervous. Ducky and Jack and Gibbs were right, it didn't matter what Timmy's parents thought, _he _loved her, that was all that mattered.

_And Gibbs loves me…and Jack and Ducky, too,_ she told herself silently. So what if Timmy's mother kept looking down her nose at her the whole time they were talking to them on the webcam last time?

She pulled off the black shirt she'd been wearing and put on her favourite white blouse instead. It was the same blouse she'd gone to meet Jack in. It was cute, classy… and it looked really good with the full red and black pleated skirt and black crinoline. She shimmied into a pair of thick black hose and put on her new favourite pair of good solid boots. She'd learnt the value of good solid boots working for Jack.

Abby touched up her make up one last time and emerged from the bedroom to find that she'd completely missed Jack and Ianto's arrival. She threw her arms around her boss's neck. "Thank you for coming," she held onto him tightly for several long seconds. "Both of you," she added over Jack's shoulder, in his husband's direction. Ianto was setting the table in the dining room, just beyond the arched doorway that separated that room from the lounge.

He looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled that wonderful warm little smile of his, the one that always told her everything would be all right, no matter how bad things seemed—after all, if she could handle aliens, she could handle in-laws, right? She wasn't actually so sure, but having him and Jack here helped.

"It's our pleasure," the Captain's voice was soothing in her ear; he held on tight until she was ready let go.

In the lounge, Tony stepped closer next to McGee, "You know," he said in a low tone, "if Abby was my girl, I might be jealous, even if my boss was… you know."

Tim regarded him for a moment. "He's not 'you-know', Tony, he's…Jack," he said after another moment's hesitation. There really was no other way to explain Jack to somebody who didn't know him. Even knowing him, Tim didn't always understand him, but one thing he did know was that his initial assumption about Jack's intentions toward Abby had been completely off the mark. "Besides, she's not your girl," he added with a sly little grin, "she's mine, and I'm not the jealous type."

"I'm just saying…" Tony began.

The doorbell rang.

"Oh God," Abby moaned.

"I am sure everything will be fine," said Ziva; she almost sounded convincing.

But Abby could see in her eyes that she didn't really believe that everything would be 'fine'; she flashed over a tight little smile anyway, just as Ianto was finishing up with the table. It was picture perfect. "Thank you," she said when he joined them in the lounge. She knew that the fresh flowers in the centre of the table must have been his doing. Timmy wouldn't have thought of it and she'd been too nervous…

"No worries," Ianto told her smoothly.

Tim opened the door and greeted his parents, stepping aside to let them into the flat; he did his best to ignore the look of disdain that flickered across his mother's face as she glanced around at Abby's décor—the black velvet drapes and black velvet sofa, the dark walls and gothic themed paintings, mostly reproductions but a few original contemporary pieces as well. He knew Abby would never believe him if he told her that his mother had given his place in DC the exact same baleful glower every time she visited him. He just kissed his mother's cheek and took her and his father's coats. (She was wearing a light peach suit, a pressed cream blouse and pearls. His father was dressed more casually, jeans and a pull over, but that was normal for them; after his father had retired, he'd said he was done with 'uniforms of any sort.')

"It's nice to see you again," Abby said to them with forced enthusiasm, sounding painfully awkward despite the warm smile Tim's father was giving her. "How was your flight?"

Tim hid his grimace by turning towards the coat rack against the wall by the front door.

"Timothy never told you?" his mother began, her tone matching the look on her face. "I don't care for flying."

"Oh—I—" she floundered.

"I think the entire notion of getting married overseas is—"

"The trip was fine, Abby," said Tim's father, effectively cutting his wife off. It was apparently not a new discussion.

"I would hardly call that attendant 'fine', Mike," she told him. However, instead of detailing her experience to make her point more clear, she glanced passed Abby at the rest of the entourage. "You didn't tell me you'd invited half of Wales to breakfast," she forced a slightly brighter smile as she took in the faces of the strangers standing there waiting for introductions.

"Tony and Ziva are staying with us for a couple of days," Tim explained as he rejoined them in the lounge.

Abby handled the formalities, "Mr and Mrs McGee, I'd like you to meet Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David—we used to work together at NCIS." She paused while they exchanged hellos and handshakes, and butterflies flapped around in her stomach. "And this is Captain Jack Harkness," she said next. "He's our boss. And this is Ianto Jones Harkness," she went on, feeling like a total dork, "I guess he's sort of our boss, too. Ianto is Torchwood's Senior Archivist and office manager," she explained, the butterflies in her stomach turning into pterodactyls as Jack stepped forward and opened his mouth.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," was all he said, however, as he shook hands with Tim's mother and then his father. "Tim has been an invaluable asset to my team—Abby too."

"A Captain is it?" Mike McGee inquired.

"Yes, Sir. United States Air Force, retired. I hear you're a Navy man. A Commander wasn't it?" he glanced at Tim, although it was his father who answered:

"Retired Commander," he said modestly. Then, as if on a roll, he turned to Ianto, still smiling. "Senior Archivist is it? So you're Tim's supervisor?"

"Something like that, I suppose. We don't stand on a whole lot of formality at the Institute," the young Welshman told him, his tone and smile never wavering.

"Tim never really told us what Torchwood does, exactly…?" said Mike.

"It's a bit boring, really," Ianto lied with ease. "Most of our days are spent organizing paperwork and sorting through old records, digitizing them. Making sure other people have remembered to dot their i's and cross their t's," he gave Jack a look.

The Captain just shrugged in response, managing to look innocent to anyone who didn't know him well enough to know better. Tim's mother either didn't notice or didn't care:

"When Timothy told us he'd taken a job at an institute in Wales, it did seem as if it was something of a step _**down**_ from NCIS," she said, flashing a darkly accusatory glare in Abby's direction—clearly she blamed her future daughter in law for what she believed was a demotion. "But… Harkness and _Jones_ Harkness?" she questioned the two men standing in front of her. "Are you related?" she seemed to be searching them for some familial resemblance, yet unable to find any.

"You might say that," Jack smirked. He reached for the younger man's hand. "We're married. Almost three years now," he added with a fond smile in his Welshman's direction.

"Civil union," Ianto explained to the confusion that further darkened Mrs McGee's otherwise attractive features. "It's the same thing as a 'marriage' when you get right down to it," he said with a smile. "I have to put up with all of his bad habits and he has to put up with mine… although his outnumber mine considerably," he teased.

"Hey—" Jack began.

Ianto just chuckled. "Can I get anybody a coffee?" he asked. "I put a fresh pot on just before you got here," he added in the direction of the newcomers.

"Ianto's coffee is the best," Abby told them, her smile brightening for real.

"I prefer tea," said Tim's mother.

The Welshman remained unflustered. "I'll put on the kettle," he told her. "It won't take long at all." He looked to Tim's father, "Coffee or tea for you, Sir?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks."

"Perhaps I can offer you assistance in the kitchen, yes?" Ziva asked hopefully. Anything to get out of the lounge.

He nodded, seeming to understand exactly what her real motives were, but not objecting in the least.

"How do you do it?" The Israeli whispered to him, in the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

"You are so… _calm_."

Ianto just smiled. "Practice," he told her.

"I suppose you must get a lot of practice at home," she glanced out towards the lounge where Jack was laughing entirely too loudly at something; Tony's ears had become pink.

"You have no idea."

* * *

"You really didn't need to go through all this trouble, Timothy," his mother said, as they settled in around the dining table, just a little while later. "We could have gone out to eat."

"I wanted to do something special for you," he told her.

"This certainly is some spread," said his father. There was French toast, fresh fruit, sausages, juice, and coffee and tea.

"Yeah, who knew Tim could cook," Tony chimed in.

"I taught both of my children to cook, Tony," the other's mother informed him curtly. "I also taught them how to darn a sock, sew on a button and iron a shirt."

"My Mam—my mother," Ianto clarified, "taught my brothers and myself those same things as well. Nerys too, of course. She's my sister."

Jack gave him a questioning look.

"I didn't say we all absorbed the lessons, Cariad," he understood perfectly the other's question. Domestic, Cade was not. For that matter, neither was Nerys. It was a good thing Mickey had picked up a bachelor's survival skills over the years. However, all he said aloud was that despite his Mam's best efforts, he was rubbish in the kitchen. "Fortunately, Jack is quite a good cook, even if he does tend to leave a disaster in his wake."

"Watch it, Mister," his husband retorted.

"That's quite a large family, Ianto," Mike McGee observed—he smiled though, at the obviously good natured banter the two had exchanged.

"Yes, Sir, so I've been told," the younger man smiled too, even as he shot Jack a look, almost daring him to make a comment. Given recent discovers—Alice, Steven—his husband was hardly one to talk about big families. He just hoped she came around eventually…

"Do you two…erm…" Mike seemed unsure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask.

"We have two children," the Welshman answered it anyway. "Jack's son from a previous relationship and our daughter, Seren."

"Your…?" Tim's mother questioned him.

"You have a _son_?" Tony wanted to know.

"His name is Jason," said Ziva. "I met him a few nights ago. He is a lovely boy," she added in Jack's direction. He beamed with pride at her compliment.

"You've got a kid?" Tony was still stuck on the idea of Jack being with a woman (or so he presumed) long enough to have had a son. "How…?"

The Captain just shrugged. "I'm sure you'll figure it out sooner or later if you think about it hard enough," he winked.

Tony looked from McGee to Ziva and back again. "I don't get it."

"Guess maybe you slept through that part of sex ed," Jack shot back. "I could give you a refresher—"

Tim cleared his throat and Ianto kicked him under the table at nearly the same moment. Jack looked from one to the other, feigning innocence.

Tim's mother cleared her throat as well. "So… Tony… Ziva… are you involved in the wedding?" she seemed to be struggling to make small talk.

Tim suddenly found his plate very interesting (for his part, Tony did a fair job of not looking uncomfortable with the subject of who was and wasn't in the wedding party— although that may have had to do with his being more uncomfortable over other things, things like Jack Harkness offering to give him a refresher course in sex ed… Jack having a kid… that was definitely more disturbing than the way the Captain kept hitting on him.)

"Ziva's my maid of honour," said Abby brightly. "Gwen, Sara and Wendy are standing up with me too—and my cousin Sadie, but only because I had to ask her. I mean, not that I don't love her," she said, prattling on a bit about the Sadie's wedding and the horrible pink bridesmaid dress she had to wear and how totally cool Ziva and the others were going to look in black…

Tim's mother put down her fork and looked at her son. "Timothy? Is there anything you'd like to add?"

"It's Abby's decision, Mom," he told her.

"Is there a problem?" Ziva wanted to know; she looked from Abby, who seemed truly startled by Mrs McGee's sudden ire, and then to Timothy, who seemed to be doing his best not to look at anyone, least of all his fiancée.

"We talked about this," his mother was going on. "You told me—"

"I told you it was Abby's decision, Mom."

"Leave it, Amanda," advised Mike. "Tim's right, it's her big day—"

"It's _their_ big day, and I will not leave it," she snapped at her husband before returning her gaze to her son. "We talked about this. Abby?" she looked at his fiancée.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she told her helplessly. "Timmy? What's going on? What did you and your Mom talk about that I'm supposed to know about that I don't?"

(Jack and Ianto exchanged glances…they both saw that things were getting ugly fast, but neither knew how to fix it.)

Amanda McGee cringed visibly when Abby called her son Timmy. "He's not three—" she shook her head, as if to clear it. "I'm sorry. I simply presumed that we had this settled," she said calmly to both her son and her future daughter in law.

"Had _**what**_ settled?" Abby wanted to know.

"Abby, it's nothing," Tim tried to say.

"Amanda, you're making a mountain out of a molehill," his father flashed an apologetic look to the rest of the people around the table; they didn't know whether to excuse themselves or just sit quietly so as not to interrupt.

"I am not making a mountain out of a molehill," said Amanda, her indignation growing. She turned to Abby. "When the bride doesn't have a sister, it's customary for her to ask her fiancée's sister to stand up as maid of honour, that's all. Was that really so difficult to say to her?" she demanded of her son. "Besides, under the circumstances…" she glanced uncomfortably at Ziva.

"_**What**_ circumstances?" Abby wanted to know.

"Mom!" snapped Tim.

"Well it hardly seems fair to ask a Jewish girl to stand up with you in a Catholic ceremony, Timothy."

The silence was deafening.

Jack cleared his throat. Next to him, his partner tensed.

Tony blinked—he was sure he was hearing things. McGee's mother hadn't really just said what he thought she'd said…had she?

"I don't mean," Amanda McGee floundered. "I'm just saying…I'm not being anti-Semitic! For crying out loud, Mike—"

"I think you've said enough," he told her, clearly mortified by the turn of the conversation.

"I just meant that you'd be completely out of place," she said, turning to Ziva. "Unless you've been in a Christian wedding before—?"

"I have not," Ziva told her the truth in a very, very quiet tone. She wasn't making eye contact with anybody at the table.

"There, you see?" said Amanda to her husband—to Abby. "It's completely unfair to everybody to ask someone to stand up with you who doesn't understand the ceremony."

Without excusing herself, Abby left the table. Jack went after her, then Tim. Ziva followed on their footsteps.

"So…how about those Celtics?" Tony asked Tim's parents—and Ianto, who he realized was still there. He'd begun to clear the table. Tony blinked up at the stoic young Welshman. "Need a hand with that?"

* * *

**A/N:**

And that's pronounced "Seltics" not "Keltics"–they're the basketball team from Boston…


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

**24 October, 2009**

"_A stiff apology is a second insult.  
The injured party does not want to be compensated because he has been wronged;  
he wants to be healed because he has been hurt."_

G.K. Chesterton

"_Hope is the dream of a soul awake."_

French Proverb

* * *

Tony DiNozzo had never been so glad of a kitchen with an actual door on the hinge as he was when he stepped into Abby and McGee's kitchen and closed the door behind him. _In a week it's going to be McGee and McGee's kitchen…_ the thought came at him out of nowhere. _Weird._ He set down the dirty dishes he'd carried in with him down on the counter. Ianto Jones Harkness was already sorting the silver in the dishwasher, spoons with spoons, forks with forks, knives with knives… the guy was more anal retentive than McGee.

"Well that was some breakfast," he said aloud, mostly trying to make conversation with the prim little Welshman. It sounded as if, in the bedroom, Abby had put on some very loud music. (Tony couldn't begin to guess what band it was, they all sounded pretty much the same to him, but he knew it was her pissed off music.)

"Quite, yes," the other agreed about breakfast having been rather 'interesting'. He'd slipped off his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He gave over a menacing glower when Tony tried to start loading dishes into the washer.

"What? I'm just trying to help."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to scrape the food off into the bin first. Rinsing helps, too," he added.

"Oh. Right. I knew that," Tony fibbed; he presumed that by 'bin' the other meant trash, so he toed the little garbage can over towards them and began scraping the remains of breakfast into it. "What are you, anyway?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just meant… you're in here doing dishes, when your… while Harkness is in the bedroom with Abby and Ziva…" he couldn't help the mental picture that that painted just by the way it sounded, even though he knew that nothing hinky was going on...still… suddenly he realized the young Welshman had figured out what he was thinking and felt his ears going red again.

Ianto just smirked. "Jack is more than capable of handling Abby and Ziva—and Timothy," he said in the sort of tone Tony would have expected his partner, not him.

Ianto chuckled at the American's expression. "I realize I may not look it, but how do you think I keep up with him if I'm not at least half as bad as he is?" he inquired. "Relax, I'm not going to start hitting on you," he assured him—Tony was looking quite apprehensive. It was amusing, really. He could see why Jack had so much fun flirting with him.

"Good. I don't go that way. I'm straight." Tony sounded entirely too defensive.

Ianto hid his smirk. "Nobody's perfect," he murmured half under his breath.

Tony just frowned. Then, "How do you do it, anyway?"

"Could you be a bit more specific?"

"I meant… him… doesn't it bother you the way he… you know…"

"What? That Jack will flirt with anything that moves? It used to bother me," he admitted. Once he had the silver rinsed, separated and loaded, he began stacking in the plates that his companion was doing a less than stellar job of scraping off. Tony, it seemed, was a bit like Jack in the kitchen. He refrained from commenting. But then he looked up at the other as a thought struck him. Tony didn't remind of him of _Jack_. He reminded him of Owen Harper. He smiled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, you said you weren't going to start—"

The Welshman laughed, "I'm not trying to flirt with you, I promise." _Any more than I ever would have flirted with Harper, thank you very much,_ he mused. "It suddenly occurred to me that you remind me of somebody I used to work with."

"Oh? Was he devastatingly handsome? Or just amazingly brilliant?"

Ianto snickered. "No, handsome and brilliant are Jack's job," he told him.

"Yeah, I guess he wouldn't like the competition, would he?"

"Not really, no. But to answer your question, it did used to bother me that Jack flirts the way he is. "Now I find it flattering."

"How's that?" Tony wanted to know.

"Think about it. He flirts with everything—and I do mean everything. What's more, he can usually get what he wants when he's serious about it. But it's me he goes home with."

"You don't worry about him cheating on you?" he asked, because seriously, if he'd been Tim or Ianto earlier when Abby hugged Jack like that, he would have been as jealous as Hell, especially after learning that Harkness had a kid, which could only mean he liked women, too. (Besides what else could 'he flirts with everything' mean?)

"Tony, if you can't trust the person you're with, there's absolutely no basis for any kind of a relationship, marriage or otherwise. It doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman, heterosexual, bisexual, or gay—or like Jack. Animal, vegetable or mineral, I'm not kidding," he answered the unspoken question in the other man's eyes. "The point is, there's no room for love—real love—unless there's friendship and trust first. I love Jack. I trust him. He trusts me."

Tony stopped what he was doing a moment, his mind flitting back to Jeanne Benoit. She'd trusted him. He'd lied to her, used her to get to her father. It had been part of an undercover operation, he was never supposed to get involved emotionally, he wasn't supposed to fall in love with her. But sometimes the heart had a mind of its own. She'd never forgiven him. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right about that," he admitted, even though he would rather not have.

The kitchen door creaked open. It was Tim's father. "We ah…we're going to head out. Would you tell Tim I'll call him later?"

"Of course, Sir. Do you need—?"

Mike waved aside his proffered assistance with a tight-lipped smile. "We can see ourselves out. Thank you—both of you. I ah… " his gaze seemed to rest longer on Ianto than Tony. "Sometimes weddings bring out a lot of strong emotions."

The Welshman nodded. "I'm sure Timothy and his mother will work things out."

"You're very gracious to say so," Mike offered up a last smile and made his exit.

"Think we oughta check on Abby?" Tony asked after he was gone.

"You're either braver than me, or more suicidal."

He blinked, then laughed. "Right. I think there were a few more dishes left on the table."

Ianto nodded again and put on a fresh pot of coffee.

* * *

Abby flung herself into the bedroom and dove for her CD rack. Jack was in the room and then Tim by the time she had the disk she wanted into the player, the volume cranked up loud enough to really annoy the neighbours—not that that was her intent, she liked her neighbours, she just didn't want to have to think because if she started thinking, she would end up thinking really bad things. So instead, she ignored both Timmy and Jack and grabbed Bert, her stuffed hippo (the one that made the farting noises—noises that were by and large drowned out by the music blaring out of the stereo) and curled up on the bed with him hugged up close to her knees.

Jack turned down the music to a more reasonable volume and sat down on the edge of the bed near her.

"Go away," she told him. Predictably, he ignored her.

Tim sat down on the other side of her. "Abby, I—" he began, even though he didn't know what to say to her. But then Ziva was in the room and he turned to face her, instead. "Ziva I am sorry, I'm so sorry. I swear, my mother isn't normally like that, I don't know what's wrong with her—"

"I'll tell you what's wrong with her," said Abby, glaring at him, anger and hurt all mixed up together in her green eyes. "She hates me!" She looked at Jack. "She hates me," she repeated, as the tears trickled down her cheeks.

He didn't answer, he just leant in and laid his hands over hers.

Ziva opened her mouth, but did not seem to know what to say to Tim any more than Tim knew what to say to Abby. It didn't matter, Abby wasn't done talking:

"And what's with the 'Ziva I'm so sorry,'?" she demanded of her fiancé. She flashed an apologetic look to Ziva—the other seemed to understand. "What makes her think she can just come in here and talk to me like that—talk to Ziva like that?" Abby said anyway.

"Abbs—I—I don't know. I'm sorry, you know I'm sorry—"

"Why didn't you tell me she wanted your sister Sarah to stand up in the wedding, that she wanted her to be my maid of honour?"

"Because it's not her decision," he told her the truth. "I told her it was up to you."

"But how could you let her blindside me like that!"

"I—I didn't think—I'm sorry—"

"Perhaps Timothy's mother is correct," Ziva finally found her voice. "I know nothing of Catholic ceremony, perhaps it would be better if—"

"NO! Ziva, don't you dare back out on me!"

"Abby's right," said Jack, turning to face her without letting go of Abby's hands. "Anyway, what's to know? It's a wedding. Besides, you'll have Ianto by your side the whole time."

"Ziva, please—!" Abby leant towards her.

"I—"

"Pretty please? With sugar on top? Ziva…"

"All right," unable to bear the other woman's pleas any longer, she relented, although it was against her better judgement. "I just—I do not wish to cause a problem—" she looked helplessly at Tim.

"Trust me, Ziva," Abby turned her gaze towards Timothy as well; her expression was far less forgiving than the Israeli's. "_You_ aren't the problem."

"How was I supposed to know she'd do something like this?" he gaped at her.

"You knew she wanted Sarah to be in the wedding," she reminded him. "You never told me. You should have, Timothy."

"I guess… you're right. I'm sorry, Abby. I'm really, really sorry. I didn't… it doesn't matter. You're right and I'm sorry." He swallowed, looking at her nervously, wondering if she was going to forgive him or hate him forever, call off the wedding… but then suddenly her arms were around his neck and Bert was being squeezed between them…

Ziva slipped out of the bedroom, gratefully that she could get to the guest room without having to go anywhere near the dining room. She was surprised when she heard soft footsteps behind her. "I am fine, Captain," she said without turning around.

"You know you can't let stuff like that get to you," he told her anyway.

"I am sure Timothy's mother did not mean it the way it sounded. And anyway, it is not as if I have never encountered prejudice before," she turned to face him. He was leaning up against the door frame, his hands in his trouser pockets. She doubted he was any stranger to prejudice, either.

"I remember being in Germany—with Ducky as a matter of fact," he smiled, just a little at the memory of the other man in his younger days… and realized that Ziva was frowning. "It was during the War," he told her.

"You are not old enough—"

He grinned. "Don't let my good looks fool you," he winked.

"You are a very strange man, Captain Harkness."

Jack just chuckled, "You should meet the Doctor." He sighed, then. "The sad part is that it never really gets any better. If it isn't other people—race, religion, whatever—its other races, other species. There's always going to be something for humanity to hate."

"Even after everything that has happened?" the aliens, the children…

"Yeah. Even after everything that's happened."

Her eyes narrowed a bit… but she let it go. Whoever or whatever he was, he certainly wasn't like anybody she had ever met before, but Tim and Abby trusted him. That was good enough for her, at least at the moment. "So what do we, do?" she wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer.

His smile surprised her. "We carry on."

"Even though it is hopeless?"

"Nothing is ever hopeless, Ms David, not as long as someone cares—just having one person love you is enough… it's enough to keep you warm, even when the rest of the world is cold and unforgiving."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

His smile deepened. Warmed. "I know it."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:**

Sorry it's such a short chapter, but it seemed like the right place to end it…

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**24 October, 2009**

**  
**_"I __don't get high, but sometimes I wish I did.  
That way, when I messed up in life I would have an excuse.  
But right now there's no rehab for stupidity."_

Chris Rock

* * *

"Mom, what did you do?" were the first words out of Sarah McGee's mouth, two hours later, when she got her mother on the phone.

"I—what are you talking about?" Amanda asked her, trying not to sound defensive. After all, a mother shouldn't have to defend herself to her own daughter…should she? She settled back into her hotel room; Mike had gone out to 'stretch his legs', his usual tactic for getting away from a situation he was uncomfortable in.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about Mother," Sarah told her.

"Your brother called, didn't he?" it wasn't really a question.

"Yes."

"I just think it's demeaning to have you as a bridesmaid—"

"I'm not in the wedding!"

"Abby distinctly told me that you were."

Sarah sighed. "Tim and Abby work with a woman named Sara. I'm sure she meant her. Mom," she cut in before her mother could go off on another tirade, "I'm ok with not being in the wedding party. I barely know Abby—I don't know any of her friends. I would feel totally weird if I was standing up with her."

"Abby isn't the only person getting married—"

"You know perfectly well that when it's my turn, you're going to be all about how it's _my_ big day and I should everything just exactly the way I want it." _Or the way you want it…_ but she kept that bit to herself. "Mom, Tim and me talked about this weeks ago. We're totally cool with it."

"Well I'm not 'totally cool' it. You're his sister, you should be a part of his day."

"Mom—just work it out before I get there, ok? I don't want to get stuck in the middle of you two again."

"What do you mean 'again'?"

"Remember when Tim mentioned that he was writing a book? What did you tell him?"

"I merely offered a piece of sound advice based," all she'd said was that he shouldn't pin his hopes and dreams on a writing career, that he shouldn't give up his job at NCIS. "Very few people are actually able to make a living as a professional writer. I'm proud of Timothy," she added.

Sarah sighed. "Just fix it, Mom. I'll be there on Thursday for the stag and doe—"

"The what?"

"Stag and doe—it's kind of a combination bachelor / bachelorette party."

Amanda paused a moment before answering. It wasn't that she didn't know what a stag and doe party was, it was that she might have expected to be invited. She said as much to her daughter.

"I don't think Tim figured you'd be interested in laser tag, Mom."

* * *

"Laser tag, McGeek? As in toy guns and…_**laser tag**_?" Tony gawped at him. The dust from breakfast had settled; Tim had talked to both his sister and his father on the phone—but not his mother. Harkness and Jones Harkness had gone, presumably off to work, although Tony didn't care to speculate, even silently, about what those two might have meant by 'another bad umbrella on the subway'. Abby was off with Ziva, doing wedding stuff, which left just him and McGee sitting around in the latter's flat drinking coffee. That made it the perfect opportunity to revisit the subject of bachelor parties because he was dying to know what Mr Perfect Jones Harkness had dreamed up…not that the prim little Welshman wasn't starting to grow on him a bit, but _**laser tag?**_ Maybe Harkness could play—he looked in pretty good shape, from a strictly heterosexual point of view, just one guy looking at another in a totally non-creepy sort of way—but Ianto was going to get himself creamed! "What kind of a bachelor party is _that_?"

"The kind where everyone can have a good time," McGee offered up. "And it's not a bachelor party, we're having a stag and doe." He sounded very pleased.

"A what?"

"A stag and doe is party for both the men and the women. I think a couple of the Sisters are coming out for it—not all nuns are little old ladies with rulers, Tony," he said to the other's sardonic grimace. While it was true that the Reverend Mother wasn't going to indulge in laser tag—she and a couple of the other older Sisters were going off on some junket Jack had arranged—several of the Sisters were apparently looking forward to the stag and doe. "We're all supposed to meet up for bowling that night," he added. _Assuming Raxacoricofallapatorians didn't land on city hall between now and Thursday_… but he wasn't going to say that to Tony. He also wasn't going to admit that he was a little nervous about bowling against Abby's old league. It had nothing to do with the fear of losing a game to a bunch of nuns, it was the idea of Jack in the same room as a bunch of nuns.

"So…what about _your _big send off, McGee?" Tony was asking. "Your final night of freedom, your last night as a swinging single, a free agent—what's the plan for your last night as a bachelor?"

"Tony…" he paused. There wasn't much point in debating the wisdom of a traditional bachelor party with a guy like DiNozzo. For his part, Tim had never seen the point of getting drunk and stupid the night before getting married. However, "I've been living with Abby since I moved to Cardiff. I haven't been single in a long time," he said instead.

"McGee… McGee, McGee, McGee," Tony chided him in a patronizing tone. "No ring. No piece of paper. No strings. That makes you a swinging single, my friend," he was trying to sound encouraging, but really he just sounded pathetic. "Doesn't Abby have any big plans for her last night?" he inquired.

"She said something about a girl's night on Friday—"

"Ah-ha!"

"Facials and chick flicks, Tony. They're having a slumber party."

He frowned. "No strippers?"

"No strippers."

"Come on—you don't really believe—"

"Of course I believe her. Abby would never lie to me, Tony."

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He wasn't about to admit that that conversation with Ianto Jones Harkness was still niggling at the back of his brain. "So what about you—and me," he added, suddenly remembering that he was staying there too. "What are we supposed to do while they paint their toe nails and tell ghost stories?"

"I'm staying over with Jack and Ianto—I guess that means you are too."

"No. No way, I am not—"

"What's your problem Tony?"

"Gee, McGee, weigh the options with me," he gestured with his hands as if he was literally weighing his options. "I could hang here with Abby and a bunch of girls having a slumber party or with you and a pair of fruits."

Tim sighed. He picked up their empty coffee cups. "Just make sure you pack everything you need for Saturday," he told him, knowing full well that there was no way Abby would let Tony crash her party.

"Well, fine, if that's the way you're going to be," the other trailed behind him into the kitchen. "Then I say we should do something fun on Friday too, just us guys. In fact, I consider it my duty as your friend—you brand new friend," he added with almost a glare, "to give you a proper send off." Because just because Ianto Jones Harkness didn't like girls, that was no reason for him to deprive Tim of his natural born right to enjoy his very last night of freedom as single man. If he couldn't rise to the occasion, Tony would.

"Tony, I don't think—"

He slapped him on the shoulder, "That's right, McGee, you don't think. You leave the thinking and the planning to me."

Although he wasn't a particularly religious man, Tim found himself praying for strength.

"I'll even invite your bosses along—assuming they'd be interested in a good old fashioned guys' night out."

Tim just smirked.

"Look, I get it that Harkness likes chicks, he's got a kid…"

"I'm sure Ianto will be fine with whatever you come up with, Tony," he said, rather than making any comments whatsoever about either Jason or Seren's actually parentage. It was a moot point, really, Jack had certainly had his fair share of relationships with women. And as much as he didn't want Tony planning anything for him, the words _resistance is futile, _kept repeating themselves over and over in his head. If he tried to fight it, it would only make it worse.

Tony was grinning. "Good! Then it's all set! Now… all I need is a phone book…"

Tim stifled a groan. As much as he hated to leave Tony alone to make his 'plans', he had promised his dad he'd meet him for a cup of coffee and then he was supposed to go into work for the rest of the day. "If you need me, I'll have my mobile—cell phone—on. You've still got the number, right?"

"Yes, Mother," Tony all but rolled his eyes.

"Abby should be home in a few hours—"

"Right. Mum's the word," he smirked.

"That isn't…just don't get into trouble while I'm gone, ok?"

"Gheeze, McGee, how much trouble do you think I can get into in…" he glanced at the clock, "five hours?"

_Cardiff sits on a rift that runs through time and space… _Tim forced a smile and took his leave. Maybe he would get lucky and aliens would decide to invade on Friday…


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:**

Thank you, as always for the fabulous reviews! I appreciate them so much—and the fantastic ideas a few of you have sent my way. This is just a short one and then on with more fun :-)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**24 October, 2009**

_"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it."_

Charles B. Kelland

* * *

"How's Mom?" Tim asked when he sat down across from his father at the little coffee shop. He'd recommended the hotel his parents were staying in because it was close to his and Abby's—ergo, it was also close to the Hub, which he didn't like, but he supposed at least that made it convenient.

He'd tried to book the room for his parents, saying that he had the money, his last novel had been an even bigger hit than its predecessors, but his father wouldn't hear of it. Tim couldn't explain to his dad that between royalties, the movie deal that had finally gone through, and his pay from work, that he honestly had more money than he needed. He also couldn't explain why he was no longer concerned about saving his money for a 'comfortable retirement'. He worked in the archives, he was painfully well aware of the average life of a Torchwood field agent. There was a reason he hadn't told his parents anything about what he was really doing; he would rather have his mother be unhappy with him for taking a job that she described 'a waste of a good education', than to have them worrying about him.

As to his question, his father shrugged his shoulders and drank his coffee. "You know your Mother." Amanda was, at the best of times, a strongly opinionated woman. At the worst of times, she was like she had been a couple of hours ago.

Tim uncapped his latte and blew across the foam to cool it. "Yeah", he agreed after a moment, mostly because he didn't know what else to say.

"She knows she put her foot in it, Son," the older man told him. "She didn't mean what she said to your friend."

He stared into the foam of his latte a moment more before saying in a very quiet tone that yes, she did.

"Timothy—"

He shook his head. "I know Mom's not anit-Semitic, Dad," he clarified. "But I Abby's right, she doesn't like her. She took it out on Ziva." And that wasn't fair. What hurt him more than anything was that his mother was the one who had taught him to put himself in the other guy's shoes, to look at all sides of a situation, not to judge people based on what they looked like. _Just as long as I brought home someone who fit her idea of normal…_ he blew across his cup again.

"How's is Abby?" his father asked him then, instead of trying to deny that his wife had a problem with Tim's fiancée.

"She's still speaking to me."

He smiled. "I suppose that's a start."

"She and Ziva went off to do—something," he didn't really know what they were doing, if Abby really had something she needed to do today, or if she was just using 'wedding stuff' as an excuse to get out of the house for the afternoon. "She was really hurt, Dad."

"I know. Your mother knows it, too."

He nodded and was quiet for a long moment before asking his father to be honest with him about something: "Do you think I'm making a mistake?" he wanted to know.

"Are you having second thoughts about marrying Abby?" his father's tone was very carefully neutral.

"No," he answered with more than enough certainty to convince him that there was no doubt in his mind that she was The One. "I love her," he said anyway. "I just…I want to know if Abbs is right, if you both hate her, or if it's just Mom."

"Your mother doesn't hate her, Timothy. Neither do I. We don't know her."

"But you think I'm making a mistake," it wasn't a question.

"If you love her, and she loves you, that all that matters, Son."

Which was pretty much saying that he didn't want him to go through with it… Tim drank his latte. "We're talking about kids. Having kids."

"I…suppose that's natural. Does she… I didn't really figure Abby as the mothering type," he admitted sheepishly.

"She's great with kids, Dad. You should see her. She's going to make a great mom." Or maybe 'mam'—Abby was embracing all things Welsh, lately.

"What about work?" his father wanted to know.

"We ah... we'll sort something out. Jack and Ianto have kids, so do Gwen and her husband Rhys. We've got a pretty good family leave plan, actually," he added.

Mike just nodded. "So you're not considering moving back home—all of Abby's family is in the United States, aren't they?"

"Yeah. But this _is _home. This is where our lives are, Dad. I know you don't like it—"

"We miss you."

"I miss you too."

His father gave over a tight lipped smile. He nodded, drank his coffee… said nothing more for a long while.

"Dad—"

"Tim," he said at almost the same instant.

"You first," said Tim, almost managing a smile.

"There's something I've been meaning to—something I wanted to say, when your mother wasn't around. It's not about Abby," he said quickly to the other's darkening expression. "I meant what I said. If you love her and she loves you, what anyone else thinks doesn't matter."

"I want you to like her, Dad. I want Mom to like her."

"Give your mother time, Son. I'm sure she'll come around once she gets to know her."

"What about you?"

"She seems… she makes you happier than anyone else I've ever seen you with. She's smart. I assume she loves you as much as you love her. That's good enough for me."

Although he wasn't completely convinced, he nodded. "What did you want to say?" he wondered.

Mike hesitated, seeming almost to regret having brought it up. Just the same, "After you moved here… I've still got friends in Washington, Timothy. I don't really know what Torchwood is or what it does, but I know what it _isn't_. You're not really an archivist." It wasn't a question.

Tim swallowed hard. "No, Sir." There was no way he could lie, not when his father used that tone of voice, even if Junior Archivist was his official title. "Does Mom—?"

"No."

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He could tell his dad was waiting for an explanation. "I can't—it's classified, Dad," he finally said. Even if he wanted to…

His father already seemed to understand. "I know. I just want to know that it's something—just tell me you don't have to compromise who you are to do your job, Timothy."

"Why would you—?" _why would he say something like that?_

"Like I said, I asked around. I didn't get a lot of answers, but I didn't like what I heard about Torchwood. Or your boss."

"You met Jack this morning, Dad…"

"He seems a decent enough fellow," he admitted. "Him and his…husband," he seemed to stumble over the word just a little. "To be honest, they weren't what I was expecting."

"Jack has put his life on the line so many times for…" _for this planet_… last month… last month they'd practically been wanted fugitives and even so, they kept doing what they did best. _What no one else could do… _Jack was right, no one else could have done what they did, no one else had the resources. No one else was even trying. "We're the good guys, Dad."

Mike sat with that a long moment before nodding. "I trust your judgement, Timothy. About Abby, too," he added, before his son could ask. "And I just…I want you to know that I've never cared what you did, what your job was, it's who you are that I'm proud of, Son. Your mother is too, even when she doesn't show it."


End file.
